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MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY

AND

REMINISCENCES.

Digitized by

the Internet Archive

in 2015

https://archive.org/details/myautobiographyr01frit_0

MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY

AND REMINISCENCES.

W. p. FRITH, R.A.,

CHEVALIER OV THE LEGION OF HONOUR AND OF THE OKUER OF LEOPOLD ; MEMBER OF
THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF BELGIUM, AND OF THE ACADEMIES OF STOCKHOLM,
VIENNA, AND ANTWERP.

" The pencil speaks the tongue of every land."

Dryden.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. L

LONDON :

RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
lJublislurs in (Drlinnnj io ^)cr Jftajc^stB ihz Qurcn.
1887.

CONTENTS OF VOL. I.

CHAI'TEK PAGE

I. EARLY DAYS ------ T

II. MY FUTURE DESTINY DISCUSSED - - "9

III. MY CAREER DETERMINED - - - - 20

IV. THE SCHOOL OF ART - - - "32
V. THE LIFE SCHOOL - - - - " 5^

VL PRACTICE IN PORTRAIT-PAINTING - - - 64

VII. *' POSTING " FROM HARROGATE TO LONDON - 70

Vin. FIRST ATTEMPTS AT " SUBJECT-PICTURES " - " 7^

IX. MY FIRST SUCCESS - - - - - 90

X. ELECTED AN ASSOCIATE - - - " ^3

XI. THE "OLD ENGLISH MERRY-MAKING " - - 122
XII. DINNER-PARTY AT LORD NORTHWICK's - "143

XIII. ON SUBJECTS - - - " ^S^

XIV. PICTURE-SEEING IN BELGIUM AND HOLLAND - 160
XV. SERVICE OF ART IN DETECTION OF CRIME - "177

XVI. THE "coming OF AGE " - - - - 185

XVII. SUBJECTS FROM GOLDSMITH, SMOLLETT, AND MOLIERE 203

XVIII. THE HANGING COMMITTEE - - - - 2l8

XIX. HANGING REMINISCENCES - - - - 236

viii CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

XX. " RAMSGATE SANDS " - - - - 243

XXI. "the derby day" ... - 268

XXII. PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS - - - 304

XXIII. SUCCESS OF "the RAILWAY STATION" - - 327

XXIV. "the MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES " - 336
XXV. THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH - - - ^6?

MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY

AND

REMINISCENCES.

CHAPTER I.

EARLY DAYS.

Though it has been constantly urged, and with a
considerable amount of truth, that the lives of
painters in their somewhat monotonous course
present but little or no interest when told, I have
thought that if the painter himself were to be the
historian, and he were to describe simply and truly
his early career up to the final success or failure of
it, he might point a moral, though from want of
literary ability he might not be able to adorn a tale.
At the present date I have passed more than fifty
years of artistic life ; and I propose to relate the many
ups and downs of it, my means and methods of study,
some experiences of great difficulties, and the way
they have been occasionally surmounted, together
with matter more or less interesting arising from cir-
cumstances connecting me with men and things with

VOL. I. I

EARLY DAYS.

whom, and with which, I have been in contact in the
progress of my Hfe and work.

To begin at the beginning, I was born on the 9th
of January, 18 19, at a little village in Yorkshire
called Aldfield. My father held a position of trust
in the family of the then owner of Studley Royal,
Mrs. Lawrence. He had a taste for art, and a pro-
ficiency in the practice of it which proper cultivation
would have improved into excellence — as many of
his drawings still in my possession go very far to
prove. He collected engravings and pictures which
were poor enough, but in which the ignorance which
is sometimes bliss enabled him to see merits which
did not exist ; and it was this passion that blinded
him into thinking that a wretched drawing done by
me when I was about eleven years old showed signs
of a genius worth cultivating. That drawing I still
have : it is a copy from Moreland of an animal that
might have been a dog under the hand of Moreland,
but in my translation of it the species is left unde-
termined— anything worse or more hopeless it would
be impossible to imagine. But I anticipate. I have
no very early recollections interesting to myself or
anybody else. My family, consisting of two brothers
and a sister, with the "parent pair," left Aldfield
about the year 1826, and went to Harrogate, a well-
known watering-place, where my father became the
landlord of a large rambling inn called The Dragon,
now in ruins. It was at that time that the litde
general education ever allowed me was begun, and I
was sent to school at Knaresboroucrh.

THE FIRST DRA WING.

How fortunate is the present o^eneration compared
with that of sixty years ago! How great the change
for the better — in the fact of such schools as those to
which I was sent, all more or less of the " Dothe-
boys Hall " pattern, being improved off the face of
the earth — is so evident as to need no proof from
me. It is a great satisfaction to me to feel that I
have been able to give my own children such educa-
tions as have enabled them to take positions, and to
do work, utterly denied to me.

As nearly as I can remember, it was on a winter's
evening in 1830 when I was sitting idly looking over
some of my father's engravings — having previously
obeyed an order from my mother to wash my hands,
as those members in their normal condition were
justly considered to be unfit to touch those precious
prints — that I asked for a pencil and paper, and tried
to copy an engraving of a dog. What impelled me
to the deed which actually determined my future life
I cannot tell. If I might guess at the motive, I
think it was merely that I thought it would afford
me a chance of sitting up later than the hour of the
children's bedtime — rigorously fixed at nine o'clock
— as it did, for I was allowed to finish my wonderful
production there and then. If I have a doubt as to
what prompted me to my first work, I have none what-
ever as to what induced me to undertake the second.

I received sixpence for the dog, with a promise of
a similar reward for another effort. From that
moment, and on such evidence, I was considered the
genius of the family^ and schoolmasters were in-

EARLY DAYS.

formed that all other learning must be considered
secondary to the cultivation of this great gift ! and
very secondary indeed it became. I found copying
Dutch prints much easier than geography and the
use of the globes, to say nothing of Latin, for a very
slight experience of that language led me to feel
that life would be unendurable if I were compelled
to learn it ; so that beyond a little of the grammar,
and the acquisition of a few quotations — which I find
useful to this day when I desire to create an impres-
sion that they are but samples of a wealth of the
classical knowledge that I possess — I know nothing
whatever about it. Greek was not one of the accom-
plishments taught at any of my schools, so I was
spared that trouble. My education was finished at
a large establishment at St. Margaret's, near Dover,
kept by a very amiable man named Temple, who,
with a staff of ushers, boarded and educated nearly
a hundred boys for twenty pounds a year apiece. I
really believe the education was quite extraordinary
for the price paid for it ; but I cannot speak with
authority, for I was only allowed a very little of it,
the most of my time being taken up with my eternal
copying in chalks, or lead pencil, with a little pen
and ink for a change, from any good, bad, or in-
different print that fell in my way. I was placed in
charge of the drawing-master, a Frenchman, with
strict injunctions to allow me to do as I liked ; and
these injunctions received his careful attention, for
he never interfered with me. Indeed, I soon found
that his knowledge was as limited as my own ; and

NA TIONA L A NTIPA THIES.

it will scarcely be believed when we see the system,
admirable as it is, which is now^ almost universally
adopted in school-teaching, that in my early days
bad drawings of impossible landscapes, and still more
outrageous figures, were the only models placed before
art students, who made bad worse, and only learnt
that which they had most studiously to forget when
they began serious work.

I remained about two years at St. Margaret's,
and except a little French, I learnt nothing. There
were several French boys from whom I, nolens
volens (here you have classical example number
one), picked up a little of the polite language of the
world ; in return, I endeavoured to instil into one of
them a little knowledge of the manly art of self-
defence as it is practised in this country. There
was a chronic state of ill-feeling between the French
and English boys. Waterloo was a red rag which
we pretty often shook in their faces ; frogs were
sought and found in the ditches about St. Margaret's,
and also in the beds of the French boys, who, on
remonstrating, were accused of ingratitude for com-
plaining of gratuitous gifts of their national food. I
forget what my immediate cause of quarrel was with
one of them (a long, thin fellow^ taller than I) ; what-
ever it may have been, the result was a fight behind a
haystack in a neighbouring farmyard — that is, if the
affair could be dignified by the name of a fight. I
placed myself in the posture of self-defence with which
I was familiar from my usual source of information —
engraving. My adversary, who was very angry.

EARLY DAYS.

Stared at my projected fists for a moment, then flew
at me like a cat, scratching, kicking, and clawing in
a very irregular manner ; and it was only after a
desperate struggle to free myself from his long legs
and get my hair out of his clutches with some loss
of it, that I was able to give him ^' one on his
peepers" (to use the language of the P.R.), which
produced a very black eye, and made him cry, and
the battle was over.

This was my first and last fight.

To turn from war to peace, it must be evident
to any thoughtful person who may be improving
his mind by reading these pages, that my art
studies must have resulted in a very large heap
of copies from prints, but never in an attempt to
draw anything from nature, or to design a composi-
tion from imagination — an element of mind which I
might, or might not, possess, but without which
success in art is hopeless. I fancy everybody can
remember the exquisite delight of his first visit to a
theatre, or the reading of his first novel ; both those
experiences are very vivid to me at this moment.
Long before I went to St. Margaret's, when I was
very young, I revelled in works of imagination — the
novels of G. P. R. James, the romances of Mrs.
Radcliffe, and, above and before all, the works of
Scott and Cooper. The two last named still retain
their charm for me. Mr. James I have tried again,
but the old love is dead, and I now wonder it was
ever born. I can recall the bright pictures with
which the Wizard of the North filled my imagina-

ARTISTIC TRAINING.

tioR. Why I did not, as a boy, try to reproduce
Rebecca and Ivanhoe, or Jeanie Deans, or Madge
Wildfire (I had enough of them afterwards), however
imperfectly, is now a wonder to me — a wonder and
a lesson — for unless my sensibilities, like Miss
Squeers', came late into blow," I could have done
something in the shape of original work instead of
wasting valuable, irrecoverable time in profitless
copying. I know very well that I never was, nor
under any circumstances could have become, a great
artist ; but I am a very successful one, and my
advice is often asked by anxious parents who pro-
duce specimens of their children's work, and place
me in the really awful position of a kind of destiny
over the future of their sons or daughters. Let me
advise all artists who may find themselves elected
arbiters of the fate of others, to be as dumb as the
ancient oracle when difficulties were presented.
Except in the rarest and most exceptional cases, judg-
ment from early specimens is absolutely impossible.
Consider the quality of mind and body requisite for
a successful artistic career — long and severe study
from antique statues, from five to eight hours every
day ; then many months' hard work from the life,
with attendance at lectures, study of perspective,
anatomy, etc. ; general reading to be attended to
also — all this before painting is attempted, and when
attempted the student may find he has no eye for
colour. I do not mean colour-blind, which is of
course fatal, but that he is not appreciative of all
the subtle tints and tones of flesh ; or, what is more

EARLY DAYS.

fearful still, he may find that he has all the language
of art at his fingers -ends, and that he has nothing
to say. I illustrate this by an example of one of
my fellow-students at the Royal Academy, a young
fellow named Powell, who died long ago. He
was highly accomplished in many ways ; he drew
splendidly. His studies from the nude were the
admiration of student and professor alike. He
gained medals in all the schools, and when he tried
to turn his knowledge to account and produce
pictures, he failed utterly. Composition and arrange-
ment of the colours, and light and shadow, necessary
in a group of more or less figures, cannot be taught,
or if taught by line and rule the result is nil ; the
whole thing is a matter of feeling and imagination.
An artist must see his picture finished in his mind's
eye before he begins it, or he will never be an artist
at all. Powell could not appreciate the difference
between a good composition and a bad one, nor
could he understand the value and importance of
light and shadow. I think what I have just said is
worthy the attention of advised and advisers alike,
and I desire to impress on all those who rely upon
advice, no matter from whatever eminent source,
that the risk they run is terrible.

CHAPTER II.

MV FUTURE DESTINY DISCUSSED.

I NOW go back to my own career. On returning
home from school with my bundle of specimens, a
family council was called, with friends to assist.
There was no doubt in the mind of one of them,
I verily believe, that I was a great genius.

Why, just look," said an old woman in the shape
of a man, you can't tell one from t'other !" showing
a print of Teniers and my chalk copy from it ;
and they certainly were, and are (for they still hang
and can be compared on my staircase), very much
alike.

I was the wonder of High Harrogate, then my
home. People came and asked for a sight of the
wonderful works, which my dear mother showed
with a pardonable pride. She could not, and did
not, ask her guests to wash their hands — a treatment,
as I remember, desirable for some of them ; but she
would never let the drawings leave her own hands,
for fear of the precious things being rubbed or other-
wise injured.

If I was you," said one wiseacre, I'd never let

MY FUTURE DESTINY DISCUSSED.

him have any teaching ; they'd spoil him. Look
at Mr. Wilkie now, the man that did the ' BHnd
Fiddler ' and that ; he was self-taught."

No, he wasn't," said my father. ''Don't you
talk of what you know nothing about."

I may remark here that my father was a gruff,
silent man, but by no means such a fool as to think
that a self-taught artist had anything but a fool for
both master and pupil. At this time I was in my
fifteenth year, and it was thought desirable that my
future career should be determined. My eldest
brother had died, my youngest one was intended for
the law, and I for the arts if I decided on that pro-
fession. Parents, in nearly all instances that have
come within my experience, have shown marked and
often angry opposition to the practice of art as a
profession for their children ; naturally and properly
I think, considering the precarious nature of its
pursuit. My parents were exceptions to that rule,
and I shall never forget my father's look of disap-
pointment when, on his asking me if I should like
to go to London and learn to be a real artist, I
replied :

I don't care much about it."

''Well, what would you like to be? You must
do something for your living, you know."

" I think I should like to be an auctioneer, or
something of that kind."

" An auctioneer be !" said my father, who

used strong language sometimes.

Itinerant artists, generally portrait-painterS; wan-

PORTRA IT-PA INTING.

dered over the country fifty years ago, more I think
than they do now ; and so long as vanity influ-
ences the human being, there will be work for the
limners of faces, for not only do the sitters satisfy
themselves and their friends with the counterfeit
presentment " of their figures, but they fancy them-
selves encouragers of the arts as well. Fuseli, who
could not have painted a decent portrait to save his
life, but who produced works of a weird and poetic
character of great excellence (which rarely found
purchasers), says in one of his lectures, after abusing
portrait-painting as a low kind of art, Every fool
who has a phiz to expose and a guinea to throw
away, thinks by the expenditure of that small sum
he becomes a patron of art." There was a goodly
crop of such people in Yorkshire, and amongst
the reapers was one, whose name I suppress, that

my father took me to see — a Mr. H , who had

pitched his tent at Knaresborough, and turned a large
drawing-room over a linen - draper's shop into a
studio. Judging from the number of finished and
unfinished portraits on easels and against the walls,
the artist was doing a good stroke of business. To
me they were " too lovely," to use a colloquialism of
to-day — one of a stout lady in emerald-green velvet
quite won my heart, and I really felt a mild desire
to do likewise. It must be remembered that up to
this time I had seen no modern pictures, but only
the ancient ones in my father's collection. Those
were very dark, so obscure as to cause one of our
Harrogate friends to say that he " didn't care a

MY FUTURE DESTINY DISCUSSED.

button for the old masters, for you have to take a
sponge and wet 'em all over before you know what
the subjects are about."

Mr. H 's pictures were bright and lovely, and

he received a commission there and then from my
father to paint my mother, for which he was to
receive twenty pounds and free quarters at the
Dragon during the progress of the work. I was
allowed to watch the operation, and all our friends
applauded the result. My mother was the one un-
satisfied— ''he had not caught her expression," she
said, and she was right. The picture is now in the
possession of the proprietor of the Granby Hotel at
Harrogate, where I saw it three years ago. It is
indeed a forlorn production, without one quality of

decent art in it. Poor H ! he tried his fortune

in London, sent picture after picture to the Academy,
and never got one exhibited.

I know they have a personal spite against me,"
he said to me one day. ''And look at their own

infernal rubbish! I am not conceited" (poor H !).

I walked round those rooms" (at Somerset House)
*' and compared my own work with what is there,
and it's enough to make a man's blood boil
to see such things hung and such as mine re-
jected." Then after a pause he said, " Look here,
Frith — now you won't mention what I am going to
tell you to anyone; oh, I know you won't — now next
year I shall send my portraits in under a feigned
name, ' Algernon Sydney,' or something like that,
and then you will just see whether those men are

THE CRUEL FORTY.

honest or not ; for I have heard — in fact I know —
that so long as my own name is attached to my
work, it will never be admitted."

Next year came, but ''Algernon Sydney" came
not ; no such name could be found in the catalogue.

My dear H said I on meeting him shortly

after the opening of the Exhibition, ''did you send
your pictures to the R.A., as you said you would,
under a feigned name ?"

" Yes, I did," said he ; ^' but the ruffians found me
out, and rejected them again, of course."

H soon fled from the battlefield where he

was always beaten by far stronger men, and became
quite a favourite portrait-painter in a town in the
north of England. There he married one of his
sitters — a very handsome girl four-and-twenty years
younger than himself — and died at a ripe old age a
few years ago, in the firm belief, not an uncommon
one amongst disappointed artists, that he had been
ruined by the Royal Academy.

As my father and I returned home after seeing

the H collection, he recurred to the subject of

my future destiny.

" Surely you would like to be able to paint such
pictures as H 's," said he.

" Yes, but I never could ; still, I will try if you
wish it."

Not much of the sacred fire in all this, not much
of the passion for art which Constable once stigma-
tized in a man who painted very poor pictures, and
who claimed a right to have them exhibited because

MY FUTURE DESTINY DISCUSSED.

painting had been all his life a passion that possessed
him. Yes," said Constable, "a passion."

Soon after this my father showed me a letter from
Sir Launcelot Shadwell, who was, I think, Vice-
Chancellor, and who had been one of the visitors at
the Drao^on for several seasons. The letter was in
reply to an inquiry as to the best way of proceeding
in the event of my studying as an artist. Sir
Launcelot had seen my drawings, and, being pardon-
ably ignorant, had seen, or fancied he saw, not only
promise, but such performance in them as would
make much instruction unnecessary ! Mr. Phillips,
R.A., however, a friend of the Vice-Chancellor's,
informs all and sundry that the kind of drawing
described to him meant nothing ; that if I intended
to follow the profession seriously, I had best go to
London and place myself under a Mr. Sass, who
had a school of art in Charlotte Street, Bloomsbury ;
and after I had worked hard there for two or three
years, I might possibly become a student of the
Royal Academy, where I should find ample and
gratuitous instruction. I was a light-minded, rather
idle, flighty youth, not at all fond of serious work,
and this letter frightened me. I told my father I
did not think my health would stand such work as
that.

What do you mean — your health ? What's the
matter with your health ? You have never been ill
in your life, except when you had measles. Don't
talk such stuff! Now look here," he added; I
want to talk to you seriously " (he seldom talked,

ARTIST OR A UCTIONEER ?

and always seriously). You have your living to
get ; everybody says you show ability for the artist
business; will you follow it? If you w^ill, I shall
take you to London, and am willing to spend some
money on it ; and if you won't do this, what will
you do ? If you are not an artist, what will you
be ?"

I had been two or three times to an auction-room,
and the business seemed a very easy and, I had
heard, a profitable one ; so instead of saying I would
die rather than not be a painter, I reiterated to my
father that I thouo^ht I should like auctioneerinof
better. Again the blank look of disappointment ;
then after a pause he said :

Very well, will you agree to this ? You and I
will go to London. I will take your drawings and
show them to Sir Launcelot Shadwell's friend the
R.A. If he says you ought to be an artist, will you
go to this Mr. WhatVhis-name in Bloomsbury and
learn the business ? If he thinks nothing of your
drawings, I will apprentice you to Oxenham's in
Oxford Street, and you can learn auctioneering.
Now, what do you say ?"
Very well, I will."

" You agree to what I propose ?"
Yes, I do."

''Now go and tell your mother ; she will be pleased,
I know."

Before I take leave of the Dragon Hotel, an
incident which created an ineffaceable impression on
my youthful mind may be related. The house was

MY FUTURE DESTINY DISCUSSED.

a large, rambling structure, the basement consisting
of a bar, a kitchen in which the giant Blunderbore
might have regaled himself, reception-rooms of all
sorts and sizes, and a ballroom of enormous length ;
to say nothing of parlours rejoicing in fancy names,
such as " The Green," The George," " The Bear,"
The Angel," and so on. The sleeping accommo-
dation of the guests consisted of rooms of various
sizes, on each side of very long and narrow passages,
dignified by the name of galleries, which started
in different directions, from no special point, accord-
ing to the caprice of the builders, to whom changes
and additions had been entrusted and made at
various periods during more than a hundred years.
The rooms were destitute of bells, but there was
one common to each gallery. It was about the
year 1828 or 1829 that the son of my father's
banker, accompanied by his wife's brother, a Captain
Rowe, came to Harrogate in the hope that some
weeks' experience of the fine air and the waters
might restore his shattered health. The banker's
son, whose name was Owen, had been but recently
married. Mrs. Owen went to visit some friends in
the South, leaving her husband to the care of her
brother. These gentlemen came to us as my father's
friends, and not as ordinary guests to the hotel.
They dined with us, and on the evening of the day
of their arrival my brother and I were allowed to
assist at a round game of cards, and to sit up much
beyond our usual bedtime. We were ordered off
at last, to our great regret, for both the guests,

A NIGHT ALARM.

especially the invalid, made much of us, and winked
at certain boyish tricks which, I am afraid, bore a
strong resemblance to cheating. My brother and I
slept together in a room made from an odd corner
separated from the galleries. We were no sooner
in bed than we were both fast asleep. How long I
had been in that condition of " honeyed slumber" I
know not, but I was suddenly aroused from it by a
fearful cry — quite unlike anything I have heard
before or since. I jumped out of bed, followed by
my brother, and we opened our door in time to see
two white figures, one flying down a long gallery
and the other pursuing, and uttering yell after yelL
They disappeared down a staircase, and in the direc-
tion of a roomi in which I knew my father was likely
to be, as he was in the habit of using it for business
purposes — making up accounts and so on — often till
the small hours of the morning.

My brother and I crept downstairs in mortal
terror, and saw the open door of my father's room
in which a light was burning. Except for the
violent barking of a dog that seldom left my father^
the silence was unbroken. We were trying to see
into the room when one of the white figures, Captain
Rowe, came stealthily up to us, literally paralyzing
me with fear.

Now what on earth are you boys doing out of
bed ? Go back this moment."

We couldn't move ; but the Captain went
cautiously to the door of the room and looked in.
His naked feet could not have been heard, but

VOL. I. 2

MY FUTURE DESTINY DISCUSSED.

quicker than thought a terrific blow was struck with
some hard substance by an unseen hand, accompanied
by an awful cry.

In the rapidity of his exit the Captain had pulled
the door after him, thus making a shield for himself
which no doubt saved his life. He rushed upstairs,
beckoning us to follow. In terror and tears we
followed him. He pushed us into our room, ordered
us instantly to lock ourselves in, and not to stir again
till the servant came to us in the morning. Sleep
was out of the question. From our window we could
see that morning had come, for day was breaking ;
and as we looked, we heard my father's voice calling
to some men who were. driving a cart past the house.
The cart stopped, and the men seemed to join my
father, and we heard no more. Presently the men
reappeared, and the cart was driven away. Next
morning my mother, with many tears, explained the
mystery.

Mr. Owen and the Captain went to sleep in a
double-bedded room. The Captain was awoke by
his brother-in-law, who, kneeling upon his body, was
endeavouring to strangle him. Captain Rowe, by
far the more powerful man of the two, Hung his
assailant on to the floor, and made for the door,
feeling sure, from the cries and wild words, that
sudden insanity had seized his friend. The door
was locked, and for an awful instant — during
which he heard the madman at the fire-irons — the
key refused to turn. He threw his vast strength
against the door, and burst it open. Then began

SUDDEN MADNESS.

the flight and pursuit that we witnessed. Rowe
made his way accidentally to the room in which my
father sat, closely followed by Owen armed with the
poker, which afterwards dealt such a blow to the
parlour door as to mark it for many years,
(indeed, till it was replaced by a new one). The
sudden light seemed to dazzle and divert the mad-
man, who stood quietly in my father's room, staring
at the dog, who fortunately continued to bark. My
father guessed the whole business, and went quietly
to the window and opened the shutters. Most
fortunately at the moment a cart was passing, and
two men, called by my father, came through the
window, went quietly behind the maniac — who con-
tinued staring at the dog — pinioned him, seized the
poker, and threw him without much difficulty on to
the sofa. My father pulled down one of the bell-
ropes, and in a few minutes the poor fellow was
harmless.

Owen never recovered. He was one of the most
violent patients in the asylum at York, where he
afterwards died.

CHAPTER III.

MY CAREER DETERMINED.

It was on a bleak March afternoon in 1835 that I
started for London to make my fortune. My father
had charge of me and a large portfolio of drawings,
the exhibition of which to a well-selected judge was
to devote me to art, or tie me to an auctioneer's desk.
I think at the present time an express train requires
little more than four hours to make the journey from
Leeds to London — fifty years ago the quickest
Royal Mail passage occupied never less than
twenty-four hours, and sometimes, in snowy winter
weather especially, much longer ; and the weariness,
the cramp, the sleeplessness of those terrible times can
with difficulty be realized by the luxurious travellers
of to-day. My father and I were packed inside with
two other passengers.

"Is this your son, sir said one.
I believe so," replied my father.

" Then would you mind asking him to manage
his legs a little better ? I should like to get to
London with some skin on my shins, if it's all the
same to the young gentleman."

FIRST SIGHT OF LONDON.

We entered London through Highgate Archway,
and my first impression of the great city was very
disappointing — of course totally unlike the grand
place I had imagined. The morning was foggy, and
from a distance London resembled a huge gray bank
of fog, with the dome of St. Paul's rising out of it ;
and when we entered it by dirty Islington, and rattled
through streets each uglier and dirtier than the last,
my illusions vanished.

The coach stopped at the Saracen's Head, on Snow
Hill. Each passenger claimed his luggage. My
precious drawings had been preserved in a folio
covered w^ith some material like tarpauling, im-
pervious to the weather. They were safe, as were
our portmanteaus. The hotel porter fetched us a
lumbering hackney-coach, driven by a man whose
coat of many capes amazed me. Two miserable
horses dragged us slowly to my uncle's house in
Brook Street, Grosvenor Square.

My uncle's name was Scaife, and he became my
uncle by marrying my mother's sister. His trade
was that of an hotel-keeper. Scaife's Hotel (now
Symonds') was a very fashionable establishment, and
my aunt and uncle were what is called thorough
business people, with a contempt for professions
generally, and for the artistic in particular.

They simply thought my parents insane when the
project of my embracing the disreputable calling was
broached, and they said so. My uncle was a shrewd
man of the world, without any of the vices that so
often disfigure that character ; and I quite believe a

MY CAREER DETERMINED.

more honourable man never lived, and he was re-
spected accordingly. His education had been more
neglected than mine, the result being a difference of
opinion with Lindley Murray, and a disregard of the
aspirate — except where it should never be used —
that was astounding.

Though my aunt and uncle disapproved of my pos-
sible artistic career as much, or more, than they
approved of the auctioneering proposition, they
heartily welcomed us to their home : indeed, to the
last days of their lives they were kindness, even
affection itself to me. If in the course of my history
I may touch on some of my uncle's peculiarities, I
shall treat them as tenderly as if I loved them, as
indeed I did.

The first step in my interest that it was necessary
to take, was to find Mr. Phillips, or some other
eminent artist, upon whose verdict my fate — as agreed
between me and my father — was to be decided. Sir
L. Shadwell was away, so there was no way of ap-
proaching Mr. Phillips, whose title of R.A. created
a sensation of awe in my father, and of ridicule in
my uncle.

" R.A., sir," said my uncle. Why, they're as
poor as rats, the lot of 'em. I know for a fact
that naming one of the most eminent animal-
painters that ever lived, never paid for a dead
swan, or a deer, or something, that he got from
that place in the New Road ; and what is more, he
lodged for six weeks with a cousin of my 'ead-waiter,
and ran away without paying a farthing. And

THE CASTING VOTE,

2.^

that's the kind of thing you're going to bring your
son up to !"

Another judge must be procured, as Mr. Phillips
failed us ; and my father soon found one in the
person of a Mr. Partridge, who lived a few doors
from my uncle's hotel : a portrait and history
painter of reputation, and, what was more to our
purpose, a friend of many of the members of the
Royal Academy. Nothing less than the veto of a
real R.x^. would satisfy my father that I was un-
worthy of following the arts. Mr. Partridge looked
at my drawings, and gave no opinion ; but he kindly
allowed my father to leave the portfolio, telling him
that the contents should be shown to the brothers
Chalon, both Academicians, who were engaged to
visit him in the evening.

With what trepidation my father went to see Mr.
Partridge the next morning, and with what an air of
triumph he called on me to keep my promise, I well
remember ; as, indeed, I do the indifference I felt
about the whole thing.

I may interpose for a moment here to complete
the history of the Messrs. Chalon's influence, setding
— as their judgment of my drawings that night did —
my lifelong career. Many years after I was a
Royal Academician, Mr. Alfred Chalon (his brother
had died) was a guest at my house, and on his pay-
ing me a passing compliment on a picture I had
painted, I took the opportunity of thanking him for
his favourable verdict at Mr. Partridge s, for, said I,
*^ if it had not been for you I should not have been an

MY CAREER DETERMINED.

artist at all." Chalon looked astonished, and then
said, Of course I knew Partridge, but I can
remember nothing like what you charge me with."
I tried to recall the circumstances to his memory.
I described the drawings, told him the date of the
transaction, but he could remember nothing of it.

What became of the drawings ?" said Chalon.
" I have them, many of them at least, and could
show them to you." I wish you would," was the
reply ; and the drawings were produced. The old
artist looked long and carefully at them, evidently
trying in vain to remember them ; at last he said :

Do you mean to tell me that I ever saw those
things before ?" " Indeed you did." And that I
advised that you should be trained as an artist on
such evidence as that ?" Indeed you did." Then,"
said Chalon, I ought to be ashamed of myself."

" Mr. Partridge wants to talk to you," said my
father. You will be delighted with him ; he is one
of the most elegant-mannered men I ever met —
quite the gentleman — and he paints such lovely
pictures. Why he isn't an R.A., I can't think."

It's because he's too clever, sir," broke in my
uncle. Why, those painters are that jealous of one
another, the wonder is the whole thing don't break
down! And it will some day, Master William, just
about the time that you are ready for it."

Ah," said my father, " if I could live to see that
day !"

^' What day ?" said my aunt, who had just joined us.
Frith would like to see his son a R.A. at

A PEEP AT FIRST PRINCIPLES,

Somerset House, sooner than the head of such a
business as Oxenham's," said my uncle. " That's
the sort of day he wants to see, good Lord !"

If my father heard this, he never repHed to it, but
ordered me to go with him at once to Mr. Partridge,
whom I found to fulfil all my father had said of him.
His manners were delightful, copied, I was told
afterwards, a good deal from those of Sir Thomas
Lawrence ; but nothing but real kindness of heart
could have influenced him when he took great pains
to instil into my immature mind some first principles
of art, taking a bust — the Clytie, I think — as his text.
I thought it was beautiful talk, but I didn't under-
stand a syllable of it. Every word he said was
miles high over my head. He talked, among other
things, of " breadth." What on earth did he mean ?
In the light in which the bust was placed, he said,

Now see how broad the light and shade is.'' It
didn't appear broad at all to me, in my sense of the
word. Tone, too; what's tone? thought I. I know
the tone of a fiddle, but what tone can come of that
thing ? But the word that puzzled me most was
chia7'0-oscitro ; it sounded to me like a catch-word
used by the conjurers whose performances I had
seen at Harrogate. In short, I was thoroughly
bewildered, and when he offered to lend me the bust
to draw from, I fervently hoped it would get broken
in its transit to my uncle's; but it did not. It was
taken up into a bedroom. A drawing-board, paper,
and chalk were given to me, and I was left alone
with the dreadful thing.

MY CAREER DETERMINED.

I Stared at it with a stare as stony as its own for
some time, and then I tried to draw from it ; to take
its Hkeness, in fact. I could make nothing of it. I
could no^ get my attempt to look in the least
like a human head. I tried and tried — all in vain ;
so I put down my port-crayon and had a good cry,
in the midst of which my father came into the
room.

" What's the matter ? can't you manage it ?"
No ; I never could if I tried for a year."

" Well, never mind ; give it up then. I want to
tell you that I have just returned from the School of
Art in Charlotte Street, Bloomsbury, kept by Mr.
Sass, and hav^e arranged for you to go there in a
few days. He has a lot of pupils. He took me all
over the place — splendid place — large gallery filled
with casts — some like that, others big figures as
large as life and larger : every means for the study
of the profession, Mr. Sass says. You are to live in
the house, board with the family, and I think you
will be very comfortable. There is another indoor
pupil older than you, " very advanced," Mr. Sass
says.

" Is Mr. Sass a very gentlemanly man like Mr.
Partridge ? Does he talk as he did ? What does
he mean by the other boy being ' z'€7y advanced'? "

This was rather a poser. After a few moments*
thought, my father said :

I suppose Mr. Sass meant the young man had
got on a good deal in consequence of his teaching,
which you can do if you like to work hard."

LONDON AMUSEMENTS. 27

I should like to go to the play, one of the big
theatres ; may I ?"

Well, we will see. You mustn't keep your
uncle and aunt up late, you know."

There were some days to elapse before I should
be consigned to the care of Mr. Sass, and the hard
labour to which I felt I was condemned, and these
were devoted to amusement. I was taken to the
Adelaide Gallery, where a steam-gun discharged a
hundred bullets every minute — a terrific weapon.
The man who showed it gave a kind of lecture upon
it ; assured the audience that the Duke of Wellington
came to see it the day before yesterday, and told the
speaker that if he could have had the benefit of the
steam-gun at the Battle of Waterloo, that engage-
ment would have been over " in about half an hour,
instead of lasting all day." He also said that all the
regiments in our present army would be furnished
with steam-guns, and it was expected in consequence
that there would be no more fighting. The Adelaide
Gallery and the steam-cannon are no more ; the
fighting continues.

And then the theatre. The first play I saw was
Shakespeare's King John." Macready was the
King ; Charles Kemble, Faulconbridge ; Mrs.
Warner, I think, Constance. Can I ever forget it,
or my delight in it ? My father quarrelled with a
man who sat next us in the pit because he chose the
moment when Constance moved the house to tears,
to disturb the silence — only broken by half-stified
sobs — by sucking an orange in a loud slobbery fashion.

MY CAREER DETERMINED.

When the queen retired, and the house was gradually-
resuming its equanimity, my father turned to his
neighbour, and, wiping his own eyes, said :

" Well, you didn't seem to be affected by the
acting of that scene like the rest of us."

"Why should I?" replied the man. It isn't
true ; and if it was, it's nothing to me."

You are a nice man to come to the play and
disturb other people. Why can't you suck your
oranges at home ? you'd find it cheaper."

Look here," said the man, opening a handker-
chief and showing a nest of oranges, I shall put
away all those before I go ; and if you object, you
had better move into a private box."

My father's temper was short, like himself, and
the quarrel grew till the audience interfered, and
the call to both to *'shut up" was obeyed. I
shall not allow the fear of being charged with the
latidatiLr temporis ^2;^/^ disposition, to prevent me from
asserting that no such acting as Macready's King
John, or Kemble's Faulconbridge, can be seen on
our stage now. Macready's fearful whisper — when,
having placed his mouth close to Hubert's ear, and
dropping his half-hearted hints of his desire for
Arthur's death, he throws off the mask, and in two
words, ''the graved' he makes his wish unmistakable —
was terrific : the two words were uttered in a whisper
that could be heard at the back of Drury Lane gallery,
and the effect was tremendous. You felt as if you were
assisting at a terrible crime. The grace and gallantry
of Faulconbridge, as Charles Kemble acted the

CHARMING MADAME VESTRIS.

character, were unapproachably dehghtful ; and of the
tone in which he repeated again and again to Austria,
*'And hang a calf-skin on those recreant limbs/' no
description can give an idea. Then his swagger into
Angers after the famous scene which leads to the
surrender of the town ! I can see him now, as, with
the elegant saunter appropriate to the character, he
disappears under the portcullis, and the place being
new to him, he looks to the right and left with the
insolence of a conqueror. His Mercutio, Don Felix,
Cassio, Charles Surface, were simply perfect. My
father was as fond of the play as I, and I was in-
dulged till my uncle began to look a little black at
our late hours.

I shall only mention one theatre more — that
managed by Madame Vestris, then in the zenith of
her beauty. I fell madly in love with her at once,
and would have flown far away from Sass and the
studio, as he called it (I was just sixteen), if I could
have induced that lovely being to be my com-
panion. It was at the Olympic, in Wych Street,
where the enchantress held her nightly revels.

Oh, father I remember exclaiming when she
first burst upon the stage and me; ''isn't she a
beautiful creature ?"

Eh — what ? You attend to the play, and don't
talk."

And there was Liston, and Oxberry, and Mrs.
Orger, and Charles Mathews, whose first appear-
ance I did not witness, for he had played three
nights before I saw him, in "The Old and Young

MY CAREER DETERMINED.

Stager" — Listen playing the old coachman with the
many-caped coat, and Mathews a young groom, I
think.

It is time for me to cease this holiday-talk, and go
to work and to Sass's care, to which on one memor-
able evening I was confided. My father beguiled
the walk down Brook Street, down Oxford Street,
through Hanway Yard, along Great Russell Street,
to my future home, with much fatherly warning and
advice ; I all the while wondering how much pocket-
money he was going to allow me, how much money
I was to be trusted with for ordinary expenses,
whether I was to order and pay for my own clothes,
etc. A feeling possessed me that I was afloat in the
world, and that I ought to be trusted to manage my
pecuniary affairs, for which I felt the capacity of a
Chancellor of the Exchequer. As nothing on the
subject was volunteered by my father until we both
stood on the doorstep of No. 6, Charlotte Street,
under the bust of Minerva, which to this day looks
down on the passer-by, I — being possessed at the
moment of a very few shillings and a half-sovereign
wrapped up in paper, on which my mother had
written " A friend in need " — ventured to ask how
much money he was going to give me for the many
expenses I must incur beyond the sum paid for my
board and lodeincf and tuition. I shall never for^^et
my bitter disappointment at being told that I must
get an account-book, into w^hich every item of my
expenditure must be entered ; that I must be satis-
fied with ;^2, which he handed to me, and when

PARTING AND POCKET-MONEY.

that was accounted for to the satisfaction of my
uncle, that treasurer would advance me ^2 more.
To a young person who expected to have the im-
mediate control of a considerable income this was a
blow, and I am ashamed to confess that I bore it so
badly as to show my disappointment by bursting
into tears — tears not drawn from me only by financial
disappointment, but I would fain think as much, or
more, by the pangs of separation. As we parted,
my father kissed me — I can feel now the rough scrub
of his shaven chin — and I passed under a roof which
sheltered me for the following two years.

CHAPTER IV.

THE SCHOOL OF ART.

Mr. Henry Sass was a student of the Royal
Academy, and a contemporary of Wilkie, Mulready,
Haydon, and many others less known to fame, all
of whom continued his steadfast friends, supplying-
him now and again with pupils whose education
those distinguished men were too busy to undertake.
Though Mr. Sass thoroughly understood the princi-
ples of art, and could most efficiently inculcate them,
he never succeeded in putting them satisfactorily
into practice on his own account. His pictures were
coldly correct, never displaying an approach to the
sacred fire of genius, and almost always unsaleable.
Under these circumstances, and warned by an in-
creasing family, Mr. Sass established his School of
Art, at that time the only one existing. The duties
of the school fully occupied the master's attention,
leaving him time only to exhibit occasionally at
Somerset House, and then only a small picture
always called ''A Study of a Head ;" and even this
modest contribution was not allowed to escape the
malignity of the critics, one of whom, in his general

MILLAIS AS A BOY.

notice of one of the annual exhibitions, said : Mr.
Sass continues to exhibit a study of something
which he persists in calling a head."

It was the firm and settled conviction of my
master that the neglect of the public, so unmistakably
displayed towards his work, was the result of the
dense ignorance of the so-called patrons of art ; it
was also his conviction that if he could have afforded
to devote himself to the practice of art instead of the
teaching of it, he could have grasped the highest
honours of the profession. Dear old Sass ! I think
he was wrong. It ought to have been, and it was, a
consolation to him to feel that by instilling his
admirable principles into others, he gave them ample
means of achieving a success denied to himself.
Many of his pupils became painters of high reputa-
tion, several were afterwards Academicians, and one
and all, I feel sure, would, if death had not sealed
so many lips, endorse all I have to say in favour of
the admirable art-teaching of Henry Sass. I may
mention here one distinguished man, my old friend
Millais, who was Sass's pupil, though only for a short
time, I think. His remarkable powers enabled him
to enter the Royal Academy Schools per saltum ;
and I can well remember the amusement of the
students — some of whom were then, as now,
almost middle-aged men — when a little handsome
boy, dressed in a long blue coat confined at the
waist by a black leather band, walked into the
Antique School and gravely took his place amongst
us. This was my first sight of Millais, for I had

THE SCHOOL OF ART.

left Sass's and become an R.A. student a year or
two before the appearance of my young friend. But
to return to my early work. In the opening lines of
these reminiscences, I have said that I hoped to point
a moral, by which I meant that much that I might
have to tell would be of use to future students,
either in the form of warnmg or encouragement.

Reynolds says, " You must have no dependence
on your own genius ; if you have great talents,
industry will improve them ; if you have but mode-
rate abilities, industry will supply the deficiency."
Another writer says, " Genius means the power of
taking great pains." I don't think either of those
great men could have been quite serious, or could
have intended their advice to be taken literally, but
rather to enforce the absolute necessity of hard work.
Would the severest application have produced a
Raphael or a Hogarth ? No. But neither Raphael
nor Hogarth could have produced their immortal
works without the exercise of painful industry ; and
when is the time for that exercise? In healthy
youth — a time, alas ! when temptation to idle
pleasure is most difficult to resist. No artist who
has arrived at mature ai^e can look back at his
early opportunities without a remorseful sense of his
neglect of many of them. I can even accuse myself,
fool that I was, of feeling contempt for the scrupu-
lous attention insisted on by my master to details
that seemed to my youthful wisdom to be absurdly
unimportant. 1 know better now, and suffer justly
for my folly.

MR. S ASS'S SYSTEM.

Sass's course of study was very severe ; my
precious drawings were looked at and remarked
upon by the master, to the best of my recollection,
in the following words : Ah, copies from Dutch
prints ! Shouldn't wonder if you turn out event-
ually to take to engraving. What ever induced you
to spend time in doing such things ? Terrible
waste. Can't have done you much harm if you can
contrive to forget all about them. You will spend
your evenings here in studying the compositions of
Michael Angelo, and other great artists. You will
find a large collection in my library, but no Dutch
prints."

The master had prepared with his own hand a
great number of outlines from the antique, beginning
with Juno's eye and ending with the Apollo — hands,
feet, mouths, faces, in various positions, all in severely
correct outline. The young student, beginning with
Juno's eye, was compelled to copy outlines that
seemed numberless ; some ordered to be repeated
again and again, till Mr. Sass could be induced to
place the long-desired Bene " at the bottom of
them. This course, called drawing from the flat,"
was persisted in till the pupil was considered
advanced enough to be allowed to study the
mysteries of light and shade. A huge white plaster
ball, standing on a pedestal, was the next object of
attention ; by the representation of which in Italian
chalk and on white paper ; the student was to be
initiated into the first principles of light, shadow,
and rotundity. The effect to be produced by a

3—2

THE SCHOOL OF ART.

process of hatching. No stumps — objects of pecu-
liar horror to our master — were allowed. Sass's
hatred of the stump gave rise to a ribald but
admirable caricature by one of the students, who
drew the professor (a wonderful likeness of him) in
the infernal regions, surrounded by boy demons
(supposed to be old pupils cut off in their early
career), tormenting him with stumps to all eternity.
The drawing was carefully kept out of the master s
sight, and well for the student it was, for his
expulsion would certainly have followed any glimpse
that irascible individual might have got of it.

I spent six weeks over that awful ball (the
drawing exists still, a wonder of line-work), the
result beinof a certain amount of modellinof know-
ledge very painfully acquired. Then came a gigantic
bunch of plaster grapes, intended to teach differences
of tone (I soon learnt what tone meant) in a collec-
tion of objects, with the lights and shadows and
reflections peculiar to each. How I hated and
despised this second and, I thought, most unneces-
sary trial of my patience ! but it was to be done, and
I did it. Then permission was given for an attempt
at a fragment from the antique in the form of a
hand. Thus step by step I advanced, till I was
permitted to draw from the entire figure. How I
regret that I did not exert myself to draw more
figures and more carefully ! but the severity tried
me very much, and I felt very weary and indifferent.
I could feel no interest in what I w^as about. Per-
spective bewildered me, and to this day I know little

THE SCENE OF ACTION.

or nothing about that dreadful science ; and anatomy
and I parted after a very short and early acquaint-
ance. I am relating the true history of my early
days, and it must be borne in mind that for the kind
of art I have practised, very little perspective and
anatomy are required ; but the neglect with which
I treated those acquirements would be fatal to the
artist who may be pursuing the highest branch of art.

All my evenings were passed in making outlines
from Michael Angelo's Last Judgment," the won-
derful cartoon of Pisa, and other work from that
immortal hand, too"ether with studies from other old
masters — Guercino, the Caracci, Poussin, and the
like. After two years' working from the antique — I
can scarcely call it study, so ever to be regrettedly
perfunctory were my doings — I was allowed to try
for the Academy and to my surprise and the
astonishment of my master, I was admitted as pro-
bationer. But before I tell of my experience in that
capacity, I will try to describe the school and
students at Sass's as they existed in the reign of
that professor. A door on the left, as you entered
the house, opened upon a passage shut off by curtains
at the bottom of it, from a large circular hall lighted
from the top, in which were placed, in an angle of
light copied from the Pantheon at Rome, statues,
the size of the originals, of the Laocoon, the Apollo,
the Venus de Medici, and other famous antique
works. The passage through which the gallery was
entered, was lined with drawings done by favourite
and successful pupils. Facing the passage at the bot-

THE SCHOOL OF ART.

torn of the gallery was a staircase leading to an upper
school, much smaller than the lower gallery, but built
precisely on the same plan — circular — and lighted
d la Pantheon, heated by hot-water pipes hermeti-
cally sealed." Below the upper gallery were small
studios occupied by private pupils, of whom I can
only remember one, the late Sir William Knighton,
sent to the school by Wilkie, and afterwards an
assistant of that great painter in some of the details
of his works. Old students at Sass's, several of
whom are living, will remember his description of
the angle of forty-five degrees copied from the
lighting of the Pantheon at Rome, the hermetical
sealing of the water-pipes, and the rest of it, which
he repeated to succeeding visitors, friends, or
parents of pupils, always exactly in the same words ;
and how droll it was to hear him go through his
first instructions to new pupils in precisely the same
manner, words, intonation, everything, as he had ad-
ministered them to yourself only a week or two before !
Hogarth's well-known illustration of the power of
single lines he invariably inflicted on the new prose-
lyte at the moment he thought it most appropriate,
always at the same point in a given lesson.

"Now to illustrate what I say, I shall draw a
soldier, his gun, and his dog in three lines," and he
proceeded to do it thus : There is the public-house
door," making a perpendicular line ; " there is the
man's gun," making a stroke at his favourite angle
near the top of the door ; and there is the dog's
tail," making a little curve near the bottom of the

ON THE HOUSE-TOP.

Straight line, ending his lecture always by the words,
Don't laugh ; there is nothing to laugh at." This
was invariably said, whether the student laughed or
not.

Mr. Sass, like many other folks, had his pecu-
liarities ; he was somewhat passionate, and knowing
that his passion, unless checked, would betray him
into unseemly violence, he made it a rule to retire
instantly from the cause of offence, and force himself
to pause a few moments before he resented it, which
he then did with dignified severity. To illustrate
this, I recall an incident in which I unconsciously
offended. An eclipse of the sun took place, and the
young Sasses and I went on to the roof of the house
by means of a trap-door, to look at the sun through
bits of smoked glass. I was enjoying the sight, and
at the same time breaking the tiles with my feet,
when I was interrupted by what seemed to be a
fearful oath. I looked down just in time to see the
rapidly descending head of my master. I saw the
cause of the explosion, and waited in trepidation for
the return of the head. In about two minutes it
slowly reappeared, and stopped where it was on a
level with the broken tiles. Did it strike you,
Frith — it ought to have struck you, and if it had
knocked you down I should have been pleased —
that you were destroying the roof of my house in

your absurd Henry!" — suddenly seeing his

son's shoes had been also destructive — why, you

confound " and down went the head again, and

more calming time was required and taken, the

THE SCHOOL OF ART.

finale being an announcement that Henry's pocket-
money should suffer for his misdoings, and my
father's purse for mine. Reflection must have
softened the ireful decision, for I never heard any
more of it.

Sass's veneration for the antique amounted almost
to worship, and anything like an insult — and a very
small matter took that shape in his eyes — was
fiercely resented. On one occasion I left some
dirty paint-brushes on the plinth on which the
Apollo stood. Sass threw them to the ground, and
quietly told me if such conduct occurred again, my
immediate expulsion would follow." Though Mr.
Sass was well-educated and a gentleman, he was, as
I have shown, subject to attacks of excitement and
irritability from influences sometimes so slight as to
cause surprise in those who had unwittingly made
him angry ; his language then became curiously in-
volved, ungrammatical, and often incomprehensible.

One of his pupils, a light-headed, careless young
fellow, who had annoyed the master by his conduct,
received a reprimand in the following words ad-
dressed to the whole school : Gentlemen, I was at
the lecture at the Royal Academy last night, where
I met Wilkie, and he said to me, * Sass, you could
teach a stone to draw ;' and so it is, but I can't
teach that C anything."

On another occasion when he was instructing us
in the true way of producing the harmony that
should exist in works of art between the figures in a
picture and their background, thinking he detected

PUPILS IN DISGRACE.

a sneer on C 's face, he said, turning to C ;

and pointing to one of his own works, You," with
tremendous emphasis on the word, ''won't beHeve
me ; perhaps you will believe Sir Thomas Lawrence,
who said when he looked at that picture, * What a
wonderful liarmoniotLs /" How is it produced ?' "

Whilst I was in the school there were two expul-
sions : one in the person of a youth from Jersey,
who, in spite of a notice in large letters always
visible to him, that " Silence is indispensable in a
place devoted to study," persisted in singing French
songs in a piercingly shrill voice, and in laughing at
Mr. Sass ; and singing louder than ever when the
professor disappeared. The other discharged student
was my old friend Jacob Bell, so well known after-
wards as the intimate and valued friend of Sir
Edwin Landseer, the purchaser of so many of that
great artist s works, and, I may add, of my Derby
Day," all eventually bequeathed by him to the
National Gallery.

Bell went through the drawing from the flat with
much tribulation, and at last began the fearful plaster
ball, in the representation of which he had advanced
considerably ; but he also had arrived at the limit of
his patience, and on one fatal Monday morning,
after witnessing an early execution at Newgate, he
drew the scaffold and the criminal hanging on it, in
the centre of the ball. We were grouped round the
artist listening to an animated account of the mur-
derer's last moments when Sass appeared.

The crowd of listeners ran to their seats and

THE SCHOOL OF ART.

waited for the storm. Mr. Sass looked at the draw-
ing, and went out of the studio — a pin might have
been heard to drop. Bell looked round and winked
at me. Sass returned, and walked slowly up to Mr.
Jacob Bell, and addressed him as follows : *'Sir, Mr.
Bell ; sir, your father, placed you under my care for
the purpose of making an artist of you. I can't do
it ; I can make nothing of you. I should be robbing
your father if I did it. You had better go, sir ;
such a career as this," pointing to the man hanging,
is a bad example to your fellow-pupils. You must
leave, sir f

All right," said Bell, and away he went, returning
to the druggist's shop established by his father in
Oxford Street, where he made a large fortune,
devoting it mainly to the encouragement of art and
artists, and dying prematurely, beloved and regretted
by all who knew him.

It is reported of his father, a rigid Quaker, who
watched with disapproval his son's purchases of
pictures, that he said to him one day :

What business hast thou to buy those things,
wasting thy substance ?"

I can sell any of those things for more than I
gave for them, some for twice as much."

" Is that verily so ?" said the old man. Then I
see no sin in thy buying more."

When Bell first appeared at Sass's, he wore the
Quaker coat; but finding that the students showed
their disapproval in a marked and unpleasant manner
— such, for instance, as writing " Quaker " in white

A GIDDY QUAKER.

chalk across his back — he discarded that vestment,
and very soon afterwards was himself discarded by the
Quakers. His dismissal happened in this wise. At

meeting" the men sit on one side of the chapel, and
the women on the other. Bell disliked this arrange-
ment, and finding remonstrance of no avail, he dis-
guised himself in female attire, and took his place
in the forbidden seats. For a time all went well,
but a guilty conscience came into play on seeing two
of the congregation speaking together and eying
him suspiciously the while ; he took fright, and
catching up his petticoats, he went out from

meeting " with a stride that proclaimed his sex.
For this he was, as I have heard him tell many a
time, expelled from the community.
To return once more to Sass's.
Besides the warning notice that had so little effect
on the musical student, there were many other pieces
of advice distributed around and about the gallery in
motto fashion, one or two of which I particularly re-
collect : ''Those models which have passed through
the approbation of ages are intended for your imita-
tion, and not your criticism Blessed is he that
expecteth nothing, for he shall not be disappointed ;"

Laborare est orare," and so on. I don't think the
motto system did us any good. Upon greater
familiarity grew greater contempt, and the wise
sayings lost their influence, if they ever had any.
Very few of the contemporaries of my student-days
have left any "footprints on the sands of time."
Many of them died young ; others, after becoming

THE SCHOOL OF ART.

Students of the Royal Academy, drifted disappointed
away from artistic life, into more congenial and ^ro-
fitable pursuits.

Edward Lear, afterwards well known as the
author of a child's book called " A Book of Non-
sense," was one who became an intimate friend of
mine, as well as fellow-student. He is still living,
I believe, somewhere in Italy. Lear was a man of
varied and great accomplishments, a friend of Tenny-
son's, whose poetry he sang charmingly to music of
his own composing. As a landscape-painter he had
much merit ; but misfortune in the exhibition of his
pictures pursued him, as it has done so many others,
and at last, I fear, drove him away to try his fortune
elsewhere. There were two men named Savage,
one very dark, the other very fair. We called the
one black, and the other white, Savage. I cannot
recall even the names of more than two others. The
first — how much the first in all respects! — was
Douglas Cowper, a fair, handsome, delicate youth
who possessed powers which, if rapid consumption
followed by death before he was twenty-one had not
cut short his bright and happy life, would have
speedily placed him in the first rank of his profession.
His matchless application, his delight even in the
driest parts of his training, and the rapidity of his
improvement, were matters of envy and astonish-
ment to all of us. He was the master's favourite
pupil, and often held up to us in his presence as an

example to Mr. C and others, amongst whom I

must place myself. Cowper's course was very rapid.

FELLOW-STUDENTS.

He became a student of the Royal Academy, gained
medals in all the schools, succeeded at once in paint-
ing pictures in which he displayed (of course in a com-
paratively immature manner) refinement, extreme
sensibility to female beauty, appreciation of character
— in short, every quality that can adorn a picture.
Finding disease increase upon him, he went abroad,
became worse, and returned home to die. The
other, Benjamin Aplin Newman Green, my fellow
indoor pupil, was as different from Cowper as it w^as
possible for one human being to be from another.
A good-natured, foolish creature, without the least
ability as an artist; but a great worshipper of Byron,
most of whose poems he could repeat by heart, to my
sorrow, for our evenings were perforce nearly always
spent together, and the study of Michael Angelo was
difficult enough without constant interruptions from
the ''Corsair "and the Bride of Abydos." Poor Green
was the butt of the school. The more advanced
students worked in the lower gallery, and no sooner
did the monotonous tones of Green's voice reach us
in the upper studio, than, armed with bread-crusts,
we quietly descended the stairs, and before he had
got further in his recitation than

*' O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea.
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,"

a shower of bread, crust or crumb, according to what
was at our disposal (after using it for error-erasing
in our drawings), put a temporary stop to the inflic-
tion. On one occasion I remember my own aim
being diverted by the sudden apparition of the Pro-

THE SCHOOL OF ART.

fessor, who passed through the curtains of the
passage at the moment of attack, and the result was
a smart blow in the middle of the august waistcoat
instead of the spot intended. I went back to my
work and waited. In a minute Sass appeared in the
upper gallery with the crust in his hand.
" Who did this ?" said he.

I threw it, sir; but it was not intended for you."

For whom was it intended, sir

For Mr. Green."

Then never dare to presume to throw^ bread at
me again. If I ever discover you guilty of such
unexampled conduct, I will," etc., etc.

From Mr. Sass's family, with whom as indoor
pupil I was in constant intercourse, I received the
greatest kindness. Mrs. Sass was a mother to me
in the best sense of the word ; and it was a w^ondering
pleasure to me to see so many of the great men of
that day, whose like we shall not look upon again.
I was sitting with the family in the drawing-room
one evening, a little reading and music going on, when
Mr. Wilkie was announced. Mr. Sass went to meet
him, and tried to induce him to stay ; but the great
painter was not, or did not think himself, in present-
able evening costume, and besides, he was in a great
hurry. He was very tall, and wore a long blue
cloak. The Sass family of course he knew, and I
was pointed out to him as one of my pupils who
has just finished his drawing for the Academy."

" Varra weel," said Wilkie, the Scotch vernacular
being very marked.

A MEMORABLE DINNER.

Mr. Sass was accustomed to give a series of
conversazioni, at which great artists and other
distinguished men were present. Etty, Martin
(certainly one of the most beautiful human beings
I ever beheld), and Constable were frequent
visitors. We had dinners and dances, too. Who
that had once seen Wilkie dance a quadrille could
ever forget the solemnity of the performance !
Every step was done with a conscientious precision
that pointed to the recent dancing-master. " What-
ever is worth doing at all is worth doing well,"
seemed to be expressed in every movement ; and
then the courtly grace with which he bowed to his
partner and led her to her seat ! Autre temps^ autre
moeurs. We never see such sights nowadays.

I assisted at one memorable dinner. The guests
were Eastlake, Constable, Wilkie, Etty — Chantry, I
think — and others whom I forget. I sat between
Eastlake and Constable. The only words addressed
to me were by Eastlake, and they were to the effect
that a sugar erection on the table near us was like a
Grecian temple ; didn't I think so ? I was too
frightened to reply. Wilkie talked a great deal, but
quite over my head ; and on the conversation
turning upon how far ignorant opinion was valuable
on pictures, Constable maintained that it was worth-
less, as he believed was Moliere's housekeeper's
judgment on literary work. To illustrate his opinion
he gave the following example : A nobleman (whose
name I forget) had commissioned Constable to paint
a landscape of a beautiful part of the country sur-

THE SCHOOL OF ART.

rounding a certain castle, the seat of the noble lord.
The picture was to be both a landscape and a
portrait of the castle, and a large summer-house was
allotted as a studio for the painter, who made many
studies, and indeed painted one or two pictures from
adjacent scenery. The walls of the summer-house
had been newly covered with a gorgeous paper re-
presenting flowers, trees, rocks, etc. On this wall
hung an empty gold frame, and Constable declared
that the gardener, whose opinion he had asked upon
his work generally, after making a variety of idiotic
remarks, said, looking at the empty frame hanging
on the wall — through which the wall-paper appeared
as a picture — That's a lovely pictur , sir ; that's
more finished, that is ; more what I like."

Undoubtedly Constable was one of the greatest
landscape-painters that ever lived, second only to
Turner, the greatest of all. He was an embittered,
disappointed man, and with reason ; for whilst artists
of far inferior talent sold their pictures readily and
for large sums. Constable was neglected and un-
popular. The works of a landscape and sea painter
of great eminence, whose name I suppress, were
sometimes open to the charge of a certain ptUty-\\V^
texture, and the fact that Constable had expressed
his opinion that " Blank's " pictures were like
putty," reached the artist's ears ; and upon some
occasion soon after, when Constable praised a certain
picture of his, Blank " immediately retorted :

''Why, I am told you say my pictures are like
putty!"

THE DEATH OF CONSTABLE.

Well, "said Constable, ''what of that ? I like putty."

Constable died very suddenly in the year 1837.
He had retired to rest in his usual health, and was
found dead in the morning. I fear there are few
men now living who can remeniber Dr. Herring's
account of the effect of Constable's sudden death
upon two painters named Wilkins, both very short,
very stout men, who, to use Dr. Herring's words,
" wore the calves of their legs in front," each possess-
ing larger corporations than are commonly seen.
They were pompous men, and carried their calves
and their stomachs very much e7i evidence.

One of them painted pictures of dead game, and
on Herring admiring a group of dead rabbits and
praising the natural appearance of them, Wilkins
said, in his loud, unctuous, pompous tone :

NattLre^ sir. Yes, I flatter myself there is more
nature in those rabbits than you iLSitally see in
rabbits."

One of the Wilkinses hearing of Constable's death,
hurried home with the news. He walked up to his
brother, their corporations almost meeting.

'* William, what do you think ?" giving his brother
a butt with his stomach.

*' I dont know," returning the push.

*' Constable s dead a violent effort of corporation
following, which sent the brothers for the moment a
little back from each other.

''Constable dead T said William in accents of
incredulity and consternation, and with a tremendous
return of the stomach charge.

VOL. I. 4

THE SCHOOL OF ART.

" Yes !" with a butt.

No !" with return butt. Not dead T butt.
" Yes, DEAD !" return butt.

And they continued exclaiming and butting at
each other until their surprise and consternation
ceased.

After my admission as a student of the Royal
Academy — that is to say, after more than two years'
hard work at drawing — I was allowed to take my first
step in painting, and I returned to Sass's for that
purpose. Here, again, the system was admirable. A
simple antique model was put up before the student,
who, provided with brushes, and black and white paint
only on his palette, was told to copy it in mono-
chrome. I date my first real pleasure in my work
from that moment. After the tedious manipulation
of Italian chalk, the working with the brush was
delightful, and the result seemed so much more
satisfactorily like the object imitated, than was
possible by the former method. No sooner did I
feel the fascination of the brush than I burned to
try my hand at nature in some form or other. I
begged to be permitted to paint a head from life. I
was told I was just as fit to command the Channel
Fleet as to paint a head from nature. " You would
wreck the ships, sir, and you would only spoil good
canvas if you had your will." So I was made to
copy copies of the old masters, till I began to feel
a dangerous and very rebellious spirit growing up
within me, and at last I told my master I would
copy no viore, Oliver asking for more " did not

THE FIRST SUCCESS.

produce a greater effect upon Mr. Bumble, than did
my audacity on Mr. Sass. He could not trust him-
self to reply until the usual retirement had taken
place. He then said very calmly, " You are too
great a man for me ; you want no more instruction ;
I am useless. I will write to your father and tell
him there is no necessity for you to remain here any
longer ; your friends expect you to be a second
Wilkie. I can't make Wilkies ; and if I could, I
should not make the experiment out of such material
as you.'' This was disheartening, but I knew the
good old fellow would not write to my father, and
would soon forget all about my impertinence. The
matter was compromised by my doing one copy
more, and then being allowed to arrange and paint
a group of still life.

My first attempt from nature still exists. It
consists of a brown jar, a wicker Florence oil bottle,
and an old inkstand.

I no longer regretted the easy life, or what I
thought such, of the auctioneer. I felt real enjoy-
ment in my work, a feeling which has possessed me
from that day to this in ever-increasing strength.
The Sass boys were handsome enough and patient
enough for models, and from one of them I painted
my first exhibited picture. I sent it to the British
Gallery (then existing in Pall Mall under the name
of the British Institution), and to my great delight
my picture, which was called "A Page with a Letter,"
was /i2mo- at the ^o/> of the room. And what airs I
gave myself! How superior I felt and looked to

4—2

THE SCHOOL OF ART.

those who had been less fortunate than myself! But
I anticipate. Long before I could persuade my
master to let me try my hand at his son, I had
dreadful fights with him about the method I per-
sisted in adopting, which was to go to the streets for
any striking character I could persuade to place him-
self, or herself, under my " 'prentice hand." Though
I had painted many groups of still life, all of which
had passed under the criticism of my master, he still
insisted that I should paint a composition of still-life
objects, ignoring all I had done. This forgetfulness
seemed strange ; indeed, it was one of the first signs
of the mental trouble that afterwards terminated in
insanity. Another sign of the near approach of
that dreadful disease may be mentioned. The
cartoons of Raphael were then preserved in one
of the galleries at Hampton Court Palace ; and
it was a custom of Mr. Sass's to take a selection
of his pupils by coach to the Palace, w^here
he gave a sort of lecture in the presence of the
cartoons. He always made us remove our hats on
entering the room, and then in solemn tones, as if
he were at church, he would expatiate on the
wonders before him. I well remember the last
journey I made to Hampton Court. It was on a
beautiful summer's morning, and the students oc-
cupied all the outside seats of the coach ; Sass
sitting beside the coachman, I with my friend
Abraham Solomon (a young man of great ability,
who died early) sitting immediately behind our
master and the coachman. Sass talked incessantly,

DELUSIONS.

to the amusement of the coachman, who evidently
attributed his excitement to a common cause. We,
who knew the Professor's temperate habits too well
to be able to account for it in that way, soon had a
proof that our more terrible suspicions were only too
well grounded. Sass suddenly turned to Solomon
and said :

" Why don't you wear a Gibus hat ?"

Solomon had never thought of doing so, and said
he didn't see why he should."

" W/iy r said poor Sass. I'll soon tell you why.
You can put it into your pocket when you have done
with it ; if you sit upon it you can't hurt it ; you just
touch a spring and it shuts up. They are first-rate
things, and I shall never wear any other."

On this particular day Mr. Sass wore a white
beaver, about as unlike a Gibus as it could possibly
be. Solomon then said :

Well, sir, then why don't you wear one your-
self ?"

I do," said Sass ; this is one. Do you doubt
it ? I see you do. Then just look here. Coach-
man, get up a moment." The coachman got up as
desired, and the hat was placed on his seat. He sat
down upon it and split it in every direction. "There,"
said Sass, " I hope you are satisfied that I do wear
a Gibus." And wear his so-called Gibus he did the
rest of the day in its battered condition, and became
a laughing-stock in consequence.

After seeing the cartoons, it was the custom to
go upon the river, and on this occasion our master

THE SCHOOL OF ART,

wished to dispense with a waterman, and row us
himself. This we dedined, so he refused to go with
us, and insisted on having a boat to himself ; and in
spite of our remonstrance and opposition, the ad-
venturous oarsman pushed off, and though it was
evident he had never attempted rowing before, he
managed to paddle his boat into the middle of the
stream, where its motions became so eccentric and
alarming, that its poor tenant grew frightened, and
called out loudly for help, which speedily reached
him.

Soon after this, more unmistakable evidences of a
disturbed mind showed themselves, such, for instance,
as his ordering great quantities of goods — for which
he could have no possible use — from various unsus-
pecting tradesmen, strangers to him ; and his pur-
chasing quite a collection of atrociously bad pictures,
blocking up the passages and staircases of his house
with these and all sorts of other utterly unnecessary
articles. One more most convincing and melancholy
sign of the sad affliction that had come upon him
occurred one evening. He was sitting over the fire
with an old friend, who told him a very good story,
which, for the instant, he seemed capable of
thoroughly appreciating and enjoying ; but after a
few minutes had elapsed, apparently quite forgetful
of when and where he had heard it, he told
the same story over again, as something entirely
fresh, to the friend who had only just recounted
it to him. Almost immediately after this incident,
restraint became compulsory, and " The School

A GRATEFUL TRIBUTE.

of Art, Bloomsbury," under Mr. Sass's management,
closed for ever.

Before finally taking leave of Mr. Sass, I desire
to bear testimony to his great qualities as a teacher,
and to his amiable disposition as a man. Personally,
I feel I owe everything to him and his teaching ;
and there are some of my brother Academicians now
living who, I feel sure, would endorse my verdict on
our dear old teacher.

CHAPTER V.

THE LIFE SCHOOL.

Though I would gladly have bid adieu to antique
drawing, I found that if I desired to reach the upper
school at the R.A., where painting was taught, I
could only do so by drawings which must meet the
approval of the Council. I succeeded, after several
futile attempts, in achieving these; and then I was per-
mitted to draw in the Life School. There, the whole
thing was delightful to me. The Academicians were
visitors — one of the august Forty sitting with us the
prescribed two hours, rarely drawing, oftener reading.
In those days scarcely ever teacJiing, How different
to the present manners and customs ! The Life
School, or in other words the school of the nude
model, was at that time held in what the students
called the pepper-box," namely, the centre cupola
of the now National Gallery in Trafalgar Square.
It was a circular room, and the model was posed on
one side of it — an extended semicircle of students
working opposite. Dead silence reigned. Strange
scenes sometimes occurred. Some of our models
were splendid guardsmen. One named Brunskill was

NOT A MODEL.

a special favourite, from his magnificent physique,
and his extraordinary endurance of painful attitudes.
He was usually perfectly sober, because he knew
well that one lapse from that condition would put
an end to his career as a Royal Academy model.

I well remember his last appearance. He was
late — a great sin in a model — and, what was worse,
he had evidently been drinking. His attitude was
that of a sailor pushing a boat from the shore. He
had a heavy oar, with which he thrust against an
impediment meant to represent a rock.

I was almost under the man, and had a very
difficult piece of foreshortening to contend with,
and was doing my best to master it, when the
model said :

" I can't do it. I ain't fit to do it. This 'ere
thing what I hold ain't right. Nothing's right ; so
I wish you gentlemen good-night. There now !"

It was good-night " to us, and "good-bye" to
Brunskill, for he was never allowed to sit again.
Some months after this, when Mr. Jones, R.A., was
visitor, an incident occurred which may interest my
readers — if I ever have any. (/^^r parenthese, I
may say of Mr. Jones that he was chiefiy known as
a painter of military pictures, and in dress and person
he so much resembled the great Duke of Wellington,
that, to his extreme delight, he was often mistaken
for that hero, and saluted accordingly. On this
coming to the ears of the Duke, he said : " Dear
me. Mistaken for me, is he ? That's strange, for
no one ever mistakes me for Mr. Jones.")

THE LIFE SCHOOL.

This anecdote was told by me to my old friend
Edmund Yates, who relates it in his delightful
reminiscences.

But to return to the Jones incident. A female
model was the sitter, and was placed with her back
to the students, half leaning, half reclining, in an
attitude full of grace. I had arrived late, and was
compelled to take the only vacant seat at the end of
the semicircle, from which I had a view of the
model's profile. The face was new to me ; the
attitude seemed a very easy one. I was therefore
surprised to see tears slowly falling down the model's
cheek. I thought I ought to draw the attention of
the visitor to the fact, and did so. Oh no !" said
Mr. Jones ; " she can't be in pain ; no. I think I
know what distresses her. Take no notice. Go on
with your work."

The next night the sitting was repeated, but the
tears were not, and I thought little more about the
matter. A few months after this, a very modest,
respectable-looking girl was sent to me by a friend as
a model, and I engaged her at once for a picture I had
just commenced. I found the girl was the daughter
of a tailor in a very small way of business, and that
she was in every particular a thoroughly respectable
person. It was not till after two or three sittings,
and on looking again and again at her profile, that
it struck me that I had seen the tears coursing each
other down it in the Life School.

Surely, Miss B , 1 cannot be mistaken ; you

sat for Mr. Jones at the Royal Academy She

A DELICATE QUESTION.

blushed terribly, and the tears came again. Now
tell me why you did such a thing ?"

''I did it," said she, ''to prevent my father
going to prison. He owed three pounds ten, and if
he couldn't have paid it by that Saturday night, he
was to be arrested. The Academy paid me three
guineas for the week, and saved him. I never sat
in that way before, and I never will again and I
believe she never did.

She is at the present time in a position of life far
beyond anything she could have aspired to. She is
a mother and a grandmother, and no one has any
idea that she sat for the nude figure to save her
father from prison. I desire to say as little as
possible on a disagreeable subject ; but attempts
have been made now and again to prevent the study
of the female nude. If the well-meaning objectors
knew half as much as I do of the subject, they
would hesitate before they charge a small section of
the community with immorality, which exists only
in the imagination of the accusers. I declare I have
known numbers of perfectly respectable women who
have sat constantly and habitually for the nude, and
if even it were unfortunately otherwise, we painters
could not do without them. Many men draw every
figure naked in their compositions before they clothe
them. I did so for years, and ought to do so now.
Then, again, if the nude female figure had always
been denied to artists, such statues as the Venus of
Milo — the delight and wonder of the world — could
not have been executed. Numbers of great works of

THE LIFE SCHOOL.

the old and modern masters would never have seen
the light, and generations of their worshippers would
have been deprived of exquisite pleasure and untold
improvement.

One more little story of the Life School, and I
have done with it. Sir Edwin Landseer was visitor
— the only instance of his filling the office in my time.
He was a very fashionable personage, and we all
rather wondered at seeing him willing to spend
evenings, usually devoted to high society, in the
service of the Life School. He read the whole
time, and one evening a very old gentleman in list
slippers, with a speaking-trumpet under his arm,
shuffled into the school. This was John Landseer,
an eminent engraver, an Associate of the Academy,
and father of Edwin Landseer, whom he greatly
resembled. His son rose to meet him with the
book he had been reading: in his hand.

'*You are not drawing then; why don't you
draw ?" said the old man, in a loud voice.

Don't feel inclined," shouted the son down the
trumpet.

" Then you ought to feel inclined. That's a fine
figure ; get out } our paper and draw."
Haven't got any paper," said the son.
What's that book said the father.
'''Oliver Twist,'" said Edwin Landseer, in a
voice loud enough to reach Trafalgar Square.
" Is it about art r
" No ; it's about Oliver Twist."
" Let me look at it. Ha ! it's some of Dickens's

REBELLIOUS STUDENTS.

nonsense, I see. You'd much better draw than
waste your time upon such stuff as that."

This amused the students, who tittered, and
deepened the frowns that had been gatherinj;^
through the interview on the brow of the great
animal-painter, and added to the strained condition
that already existed between him and the students ;
for Landseer nearly always came late, and kept us
waiting outside the door of the school, whilst he was
placing the model, in what we thought a purposely
aggravating way. The night after the interview I
have related, the delay outside was so prolonged
that we stamped and knocked in the manner
common to a crowd waiting in the gallery of a
theatre for the actors to appear.

The result of this riotous proceeding was, that in
obedience to a written order posted up in the hall on
the next evening, we were compelled to remain below
till a bell summoned us to mount the numberless
stairs to the pepper-box." Which of the students
was guilty of writing the word " Humbug" in large
capitals across the obnoxious order I never knew,
nor indeed did I know that it had been done, till
Mr. Jones, who was then keeper of the Academy
and the head of all the schools, walked into the Life
School with the order in his hand. He took his
place with his back to the model, and addressed us
thus: " Gendemen — I use that word in addressing
you collectively, but there is one person amongst
you who has no claim to the appellation — I hold in
my hand evidence of vulgar insubordination. I am

THE LIFE SCHOOL.

sorry to think that an act which must have been
witnessed by some of you, was not prevented before
it was perpetrated. I seek not, gentlemen, to dis-
cover the author of this insult, for if I knew him, it
would be my painful duty to pursue him to his
expulsion," etc.

Landseer lived at least thirty years after this, but
was never visitor again. About this time two young
men became students of the Academy, who were
destined to play very prominent parts in the world.
John Phillip, who became an Academician, and one
of the finest painters of the English or any other
school ; and Richard Dadd, his intimate friend and
future brother-in-law, a man of genius that would
assuredly have placed him high in the first rank of
painters, had not a terrible affliction darkened one
of the noblest natures and brightest minds that ever
existed, and eventually put an end to all the hopes
that were entertained for his future. I cannot go
into details rhat would be distressing to me to relate,
and to the survivors of my unhappy friend to read.
Suffice it to say that the noble mind is destroyed,
though the body still survives. I would rather
recall Dadd as I knew him in the happy
days of long ago, when he and Phillip, O'Neil,
Elmore, Ward, Egg (all gone !), and some others,
formed a band of followers full of the spirit of
emulation, love for our art and one another. As to
jealousy of each other, I can truly say the feel-
ing never crossed my mind, nor do I believe it
existed ambngst us at all. We met together

MISTAKEN ADVICE.

constantly, formed a sketching club, criticised and
abused each other's works whenever we thought
they deserved chastisement. We were not in the
least a mutual admiration society, like that which is
said to exist amongst a certain class at the present
time.

I must now return to the period when I entered the
Life Academy, and found my friend Douglas Cowper
at work there. He was far in advance of me in
every way, and had already begun to paint subjects,
illustrations of Scott and Shakespeare ; and what
was most wonderful to me, the pictures were sold ! —
for very small prices, certainly ; but they were sold.

Why don't you give up painting heads," said he
to me, ''and try your hand at a composition of two
or three figures ?"

" Because I should make a mess of it," said I ;
and as I made a very deplorable mess of a composi-
tion which I attempted many months afterwards —
having in the meantime gone through a course of
portrait-painting — I should only have disgusted
myself beyond endurance by so premature an effort
as Cowper proposed.

CHAPTER VI.

PRACTICE IX PORTRAIT-PAINTING.

I HAD quitted Sass's for good, and was practising,
I still think, in the right way, viz., by painting any-
one whom I could persuade to sit to me ; and amongst
those who had patience to go through this ordeal
were my uncle and aunt Scaife, and several of
their friends. That anybody would be fool enough
to pay money for my performances never entered
my mind ; but to my delight one day an old gentle-
man, who had seen a portrait of one of my uncle's
friends, offered me five pounds if I would make as
good a likeness of him as I had done of my other
victim. I tried, succeeded, and received my first
money reward for work and labour done." This
old gentleman's daughter was governess in a family
in Lincolnshire, and the owner of the family, happen-
ing to be in London, saw the portrait of his
governess's father, and was so struck with the like-
ness that he asked me if I could go to his house to
paint himself, and "others, he had no doubt, would
follow suit — price five pounds for a head, ten for a
kit-cat, fifteen for a half-length — always the size of

'PICKWICK'' UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

life. I Started full of hope and interest, and found
myself in the midst of most agreeable society,
welcomed everywhere, and with as much work as I
could do. The way of it was this : I went from
house to house, chiefly among the higher class of
gentlemen farmers, staying as long as my work
lasted ; sometimes flirting with the young ladies,
who thought painting "oh, such a beautiful art!"
flattering their mothers — in their portraits, I mean —
and, I verily believe, making myself a general
favourite everywhere.

Pickwick " was being published at this time in
monthly parts, taking the town and country by
storm ; and as each number appeared — to beguile the
tedium of the sitting — it was read by the wife of one
of my sitters, who was a jolly portly man, not unlike

Mr. Pickwick himself. Mrs. N (the wife) was a

very serious lady indeed, religious, I believe, in the
truest sense of the word ; but certainly a very de-
pressmg person, without a particle of fun, or the
least sense of humour, in her composition. Anything
funnier,however,than her readingof '^Pickwick" could
not be conceived. Every sentence was uttered in
precisely the tones she used when she read morning
and evening prayers, and I need scarcely say that
that method of elocution, excellent as it was for the
one purpose, became ludicrous in the extreme when
adopted for the other. If my reader will take the
trouble to imagine the following speech of Mr.
Weller's — ''You would change yournote if you know'd
who was near you, as the hawk remarked to hisself

VOL. I. 5

PRACTICE IN PORTRAIT-PAINTING.

with a cheerful laus^h as he heard the robbinof red
breast a-sinq-incr round the corner" — dehvered in the
manner affected by the severest of the Low Church
clergymen, an idea may be formed of the result
upon me, and even upon my jolly sitter, whose solemn
''Amen" after it I can never forget.

After finishing my work at the N s', I betook

myself, bag and baggage, to a neighbouring farm-
house, where fresh faces awaited my attention. The
Grange was a large farm, held under Lord Yar-

borough by a Mr. F , who possessed a pretty

little w^ife and a small old mother-in-law, whose
characteristic countenance made me long to paint it.

In her youth, Mrs. B , who was the widow of

a bluff sea captain of Hull, had been a great beauty.
She was now very old, and amongst other eccen-
tricities had a habit of thinking aloud, and invariably
on the same subject — personal appearance. V ery
embarrassing, because any new face was sure to
produce an immediate criticism, favourable or the
reverse. I arrived very late at the Grange, and was
shown into the drawing-room, where a young clergy-
man was reading prayers, and the visitors and family
were kneeling in various directions. The old lady
was allowed to pray sitting, seemingly ; and when
I appeared and immediately knelt down with the
rest, she interrupted the clergyman by some words
which I did not catch, but judging from the shak-
ing of several of the worshippers' shoulders, and
the great difficulty the reader had in going on with
the service, they evidently were of a droll tendency.

ECCENTRIC SITTERS.

It was not till the next day that Mr. F ex-
plained the situation. The fact was that no sooner
did the old lady catch sight of me, than she ex-
claimed : " Well 1 /les no beauty."

She was an amusing sitter. With regard to her
own portrait, she was only anxious that a large
miniature likeness of her husband, which she wore
as a brooch, should be faithfully rendered. Oh,
mister !" she said ; you haven't caught the Captain's
eye. It was a beautiful blue, not like that; that's
GREEN !"

She was, however, quite content with my rendering
of her own delightful old face — her cheeks streaked
like a winter apple ; and she was apparently quite
indifferent to the departed loveliness of her youth.
Very unlike, in that respect, many old ladles I have
painted since, most of whom have seemed possessed
with the idea that time had stood still for fifty years ;
and that the face over which seventy or eighty
summers and winters had passed, was very much the
same as the one with which they were familiar in
their teens. I could furnish proofs of what I have
just written that would startle the incredulous as
much as the facts startled me. Among my sitters in
those days was an old clergyman, whose daughters
were most anxious that his portrait should be painted.
He had been a chaplain in the navy, and — singular
perhaps for a parson — always wore a long blue coat,
buttoned to the throat ; the black ribbon of his
pince-nez meandering across a chest puffed and
smooth, in unmistakable imitation of George IV.

5—2

PRACTICE IN PORTRAIT-PAINTING.

He was very old, and very upright — of a spare tall
figure. A Sir Charles Grandison in courtesy, but
hated sitting with an intensity I have rarely seen
equalled.

I believe that the fight that went on between his
desire to please his daughters and his dislike of sitting,
shortened his life. He was of a bilious temperament,
and after he had been sitting a short time, a flush
spread over his face, succeeded by a yellow patch i-
ness (between both of which I had lo steer a middle
course), plainly showing a painfully disturbed con-
dition of his system. To amuse him, I placed a
large looking-glass in such a position as to enable
him to see each touch as it was put on. I w^as hard
at work at the blue coat, the plain pigeon-breasted
appearance of which I was modifying by a few
creases, when I saw my sitter give a violent tug at
the front of the garment. I went on with my
creases, however, successfully as I thought, break-
ing up the mass of monotonous blue, until the old
gentleman, apparently unable to bear it any longer,
jumped up and came behind me, exclaiming : My
dear sir, I never, never wear my coat like that !
I could not endure such a coat — it does not fit me !
Pray remove those marks !"

And removed thev were, and the coat is creaseless
to this day. I spent four months at that time
painting portraits in Lincolnshire — in fact, I re-
mained as long as I could find any work to do,
constantly receiving letters from my artist friends
in London, giving glowing accounts of the Exhibi-

EARLY ATTEMPTS.

tion of 1839 (opened during my absence), and
bestowing anathemas on myself for remaining away
from the scene of those glories, and the successes of
my particular friends, notably of Cowper and O'Neil,
both of whom had exhibited pictures which had
found purchasers.

Looking back, I feel that I not only did not lose
time, but improved it by my Lincolnshire practice.
No better preparation could be imagined for a man
whose powers enable him to cope successfully with
the lower or the higher branches of art, than the
careful study of nature and character that portrait-
painting ensures. I have seen several of my per-
formances since they were painted, and what
surprised me, and still surprises me, is the curious
difference in the merits of works done in consecutive
order. I find some quite exceptionally well done
for so young a hand — good in drawing, colour, and
character — others bad in every respect ; but I have
the satisfaction of feeling that in every instance I
endeavoured to do my best, and undoubtedly I
gained greatly by the experience. My work gene-
rally became much improved, and I would impress
upon the young student the desirability of similar
practice when attainable.

CHAPTER VII.

POSTING " FROM HARROGATE TO LONDON.

I AM perfectly ignorant of the principles of literary
composition. Ignorance is bliss," they say; it may
be, but I have never been able to taste the rapture
that condition of mind is said to engender — indeed,
I am suffering from the misery of it at this
moment. To those who have accompanied me
thus far in my reminiscences, my confession of in-
competence is needless ; but I plead it in excuse for
the introduction in this place of matter that I fancy
should have appeared before. With this short pre-
lude in the shape of excuse, I have to say that in the
year 1837 my father came to London, and stopped at
my uncle Scaife's hotel, as usual. He was a great
sufferer from asthma; and influenza being at that
time very prevalent, he was attacked by it, and
died after a few days' illness. I felt his loss very
bitterly, for, as so often happens, under a somewhat
gruff manner there beat a warm and tender heart ;
he was a kind and loving father, and his loss at the
comparatively early age of sixty was a lasting grief
to his widow and children. So soon as my mother

''POSTING'' TO LONDON.

could find a tenant for the Dragon Hotel — of which
my father had recently become owner as well as
landlord — she prepared to leave Harrogate for Lon-
don, so as to make a home for her sons, whose
professions (law and art) rendered a residence in
London imperative. I may premise that for many
years my mother had been a terrible sufferer from
rheumatic gout ; entire loss of the use of her limbs
being the result. There were no railways between
York and London ; a night and day journey in a
stage-coach presented such a picture of misery, and
perhaps injury, to the invalid as to necessitate some
other mode of conveyance. There was nothing for
it but to ''post" all the way to London. A large
carriage was procured, with an ample roof for
luggage, and a " rumble " behind. Well do I re-
member the packing (piling, rather) of that tre-
mendous lu2:Q:ao:e ! When a mountain of moderate
dimensions had been erected, there still remained a
large hair-trunk.

" Where on earth is that to go ? There is no
room for it up there," said I to one of the packers — •
an old servant, who had known me from a child.

"Oh, there's plenty of room up in the allyment,"
said Seth, and up into the element went the trunk,
nearer to the stars than it had ever been before.

Then came the scarcely less difficult packing of
my mother. That accomplished, my sister and, I
think, a maid being inside, and I in the rumble be-
hind with a Yorkshire housemaid, we started on our
long journey southwards. We were driven by easy

72 ''POSTING" FROM HARROGATE TO LONDON.

Stages — fifteen miles, more or less, at a stretch —
when with fresh horses and post-boys we continued
our travel. I very soon found I was mistaken for a
footman ; my homely appearance and my position in
the rumble may partly account for the misconception ;
and I very likely favoured it by my readiness to
alight at each stage, in seeing after fresh horses, and
in making myself more or less useful in attaching
them to the carriage. If I had any doubt of my
mistaken identity, it was put to rest by the third
post-boy, who, after using bad language to me
because I did not buckle some strap or other pro-
perly, called out to me, Here, you just stand by
the 'orses 'eads while I go and get just a nip at the
bar ;" and there I stood. And when my friend re-
joined me, wiping his mouth with the back of his
hand, he informed me that There was no house on
the road where you could get a better glass of
' srub' than the Black Bear ; and now just give us a
leg up, will you ?"

I confess I enjoyed my domestic position very
much, and took advantage of it often during our
journey. My dear mother first frowned when I
touched my hat to her, and then laughed and as-
sisted in the fun — giving me fictitious orders, and
then scolding and threatening me for forgetting
them.

At one place where we changed horses, our new
attendant was a very old post-boy — a figure quite
strange to the present generation. He wore an old
white hat, a weather-stained jacket that had once

AN AMATEUR POST-BOY.

been blue, buckskin breeches **all too wide for his
shrunk shanks," and boots that had seen better days.
I led one of his horses from the stable, and tried to
back it into its proper place in front of the carriage.
The animal, wiser than the post-boys, knew that I
was an impostor, and refused to be directed by me.
He backed against the carriage-door. My mother
screamed and scolded, and the old post-boy roared
in stentorian tones that I thouo^ht ouo:ht to have
shaken him to pieces :

Hold there, will you ! What are you a-doing
of ? Bring her here, can't you ?"

I meekly obeyed, and resigned my charge to her
master, who speedily placed her in her proper posi-
tion.

" I should say you was a indoor servant. Don't
know nothing about osses, eh ?" said the old man.

Yes," I said ; my work is mostly indoors. I
am not accustomed to horses much."

Then why couldn't you let 'em alone ? You'd
no call to meddle. You'd a been rio^ht served if
she'd kicked you."

As we approached nearer to London, the delusion
became, if possible, more pronounced.

"Won't the ladies alight and take some refresh-
ment ?" said a man, apparently the landlord of the
inn at which we were chanorinQ^ horses.

The notion of my mother alighting amused me,
and I went to the carriage-window, and giving
my hat the footman-touch that I knew so well, I
said :

74 "POSTIXG" FROM HARROGATE TO LONDON.

The landlord desires to know if your grace will
alight and take some refreshment."

Go along, you naughty boy !" said my mother.
*'Tell him we haven't eaten half the provisions w^e
brought with us."

To the landlord I said respectfully :
" Her ladyship is not very well, and would rather
not alight."

''Humbug!" said the landlord. "Jemmy" — to
the post-boy — *' mind how you go round the corner

after you pass the bridge as you go into " (some

town, the name of which escapes me), " or you'll
upset 'em, as you did the judge you took to the
assizes, you know."

Oh, ah ! I'll mind," said the post-boy.

Now whether those directions to our driver con-
veyed masked orders for our destruction or not (in
consequence of her grace refusing to alight) will
ever remain a mystery. The landlord s directions
made me very uneasy, and when the distant bridge
came into view across the top of the carriage — or
rather on one side of it — and the post-horse pace was
rapidly increased till it became exceedingly like a
gallop, I felt that the last moments of all of us
(except the post-boy) might be alarmingly near.
Now we are on the bridge ; we approach the corner ;
the carriage sways sideways past it, all but over; we
are safe at the Bridge Inn. This was too much for
my mother. She called the driver to the carriage,
and rated him soundly. How dared he drive in
that furious way !" etc., etc.

A BEWITCHING BARMAID.

" It's the osses, mum ; I can't hold 'em. Bless
you ! they knows like Christians they're a-nearing
home, and their grub's a-waiting for 'em. I couldn't
stop 'em ; but you're all right. Why, t'other day
we'd a upset, but nobody wasn't hurt, and perhaps
you wouldn't a been neither."

Go away," said my mother, *'and send the next
driver to me."

That person received a warning that if he pursued
anything like the mad career of his predecessor, he
would be mulcted of the threepence a mile that the
post-boy usually received for himself.

One more wayside experience as a footman, and
I take off my phantom livery. As w^e drove up to
an inn, not many miles from London, I could see
from my perch in the rumble that it was blessed
with a remarkably pretty barmaid. From my youth
up I have been, and ever shall be, sensible to the
charm of female beauty ; and I think one glance at
the barmaid was enough to make her acquainted
with that fact, sensible as she must have been of
her own attractions. Besides, was I not a fellow-
servant ? I was young, so was she, though a little
older than myself At that time I despised any girl
youngc7^ than myself ; noiu I am of a different
opinion. I talked to my mother at the carriage-
window for a moment, with a very bright eye
on the bar-window. Good gracious, she beckons
me !

" I feel so thirsty, mother."
Well, dear, go into the house and get some-

76 ''POSTING" FROM HARROGATE TO LONDON.

thing ; and here, take this bottle and get it filled
with the best sherry they have.'^

I went to the bar.
Now, young man, what can I do for you ?"

What a question ! She was prettier near than at
a distance.

What will you take — what is it to be ?" said the
pretty barmaid ; and she kindly added, " Whoever
changes horses here, the orders is to give the servant
a glass of anything they like best."

Oh, thank you said I. I think I will take a
glass of — of

Try the ' srub,' " said the barmaid.
"What is 'srub'.^" said I. (I really did not
know.)

" Oh, come, that's a good un ! you pretend you
don't know what ' srub ' is ! There, that's it. Down
with it ; it will do you good after your journey.
Come a long way ?"

The srub " nearly choked me — filthy stuff — rum,
I think.

Will you be so good as to fill this bottle with the
best sherry you have got ?" said I.

Ain't got any best," said the barmaid ; it's all
best in this house. There you are ; six shillings,
please. Going to London inquired the lady.
" Yes.''

Ah, I wish I was going with you !'' said the
barmaid. (I am afraid I devoutly wished she was.)
I've never been to London ; have you ?"
''Yes," said L

Here we were interrupted by our new post-boy,
who said : *

Now, young fellow, your missis wants to know
if you are going to stand there jabbering all day.
It's my opinion you'll have to look out for another
situation if you don't mind what youVe about."

We resumed our journey, and in due time arrived
at my uncle's house in Brook Street — not the hotel,
but at a private house in Upper Brook Street, to
which he had retired from business in easy com-
petence. We were most kindly received, and there
we remained till a house could be found for us. After
much searching, we found in No. ii, Osnaburgh
Street, a house that suited us in all respects save
one — there was no decent painting-room. But I
made the best of a small back parlour, in which I
painted my first composition, and in which I passed
some of the happiest hours of my life ; and to that
small studio (with many apologies for this interrup-
tion to my narrative) I now return.

CHAPTER VIII.

FIRST ATTEMPTS AT ''SUBJECT-PICTURES."

I DETERMINED to try my hand at what we called
" a subject picture." My admiration of Cowper led
me into unconscious imitation of his manner, and
after throes unutterable, I produced a small com-
position of two lovers — a reminiscence of a little
affaire dc cceur of my own. The lady was repre-
sented listening to vows, that were as sincere as I
could make them appear, from a gentleman in
a Spanish costume fresh from the masquerade-
shop.

The picture was sent to the Liverpool Exhibition,
and sold for fifteen pounds. It was long before I
could reconcile myself to the idea of being paid for a
portrait ; but that any idiot could be found who
would give fifteen golden sovereigns for a child of
my imagination, astounded and delighted me, and at
the same time urged me to further effort. As I
have said earlier in this narrative, I was a great
reader of Scott. With his novels I was very fami-
liar, less so with his poetry. I read much of the
poetry, however, with a view to a picture, and

A DIFFICULT ''SUBJFCTr

fixed upon a scene from the Lay of the Last
Minstrel " — selecting the following passage for illus-
tration :

" Full slyly smiled the observant page,
And gave the withered hand of Age
A goblet crowned with rosy wine."

A much-needed refreshment for the old man as he
proceeds with his long-winded narrative to the
Duchess.

It was necessary, of course, to get an old and, if
possible, a bearded model ; but the latter in those
days it was almost ^///possible to find, as an account
given later in these reminiscences of my search after
that then rare individual will show. I knew far
too little of perspective, and consequently the rela-
tive sizes of the old man and the page puzzled
me frightfully ; sometimes their figures were tum-
bling over each other, and sometimes they were
slipping out of the picture. Do what I w^ould, I
could not make their feet stand flat on the floor. The
boy had a stupid giggle on his face, and stood upon
his toes. The old man's beard insisted on looking
as if he had tied it on, and its annoying owner
nearly drove me wild with his remarks ; and the
girl who sat for the page said, She never see such
a face ; it wasn't like her, she knew." Indeed it
was not, nor like any earthly thing. How well I
remember throwing down palette and brushes, and
rushing out of the house in despair, and wandering
about Chalk Farm where pigeon-shooting was going
on, watching the pigeons as they were knocked over,

So FIRST ATTEMPTS AT ''SUBJECT-PICTURES:'

almost envying their fate ! After rubbings out and
alterations innumerable, the picture was finished.
O'Neil and poor Cowper came, smiled, and said
nothing. My old master told me flatly I should
never do anything as long as I lived, and that
all his hard work to make an artist of me had been
thrown away. This was inspiriting! However, I
sent the Last Minstrel " to the Suffolk Street
Gallery, and it was hung among other specimens
of imbecility. The whole exhibition was frightfully
criticised in the newspapers, and if I were not
selected for especial abuse, it was evident, I thought,
that I was not worthy of notice.

In spite of the practice I had had in portrait-
painting, I still felt great difficulty in painting flesh ;
and I therefore made many more studies from life,
in the hope of the improvement that was long
a-coming.

Soon after I ventured on another and laro;-er com-
position of figures, the subject being from Scott's

Heart of Midlothian," and the scene the interior of
the church, with Madge Wildfire dragging Jeanie
Deans up the centre aisle, to the amazement of the
congregation. This was considered to be a great
advance on the " Last Minstrel," and, indeed, it
might be an advance w^ithout going very far ; but
there was really much more promise, and more per-
formance too, than could have been expected from
the miserable shortcomings of the previous work.
"Madge Wildfire" also figured on the walls of
Suffolk Street, and I received some compliments on

THE ONLY REJECTION,

the varnishing-day which greatly elated me, and
what was better, nerved me for future work.

My next attempt was on the principle of fools
rushing in where angels fear to tread,'' a subject
from Shakespeare — Othello and Desdemona " — and
the moment chosen was when Othello takes the
pretty broad hint that Desdemona gives him, and
declares his love — Upon this hint I spake." My
Othello was painted from an East Indian crossing-
sweeper, and Desdemona from my sister ; the result
being a resemblance to the models from whom I
drew the characters, and none whatever to the
characters that Shakespeare drew. This picture
came into my hands many years afterwards, when
I cut off Othello's legs as well as the lady's, and
repainted the whole thing ; having reduced the size
of the picture considerably, but I hope added a
little to its value. At the present time Cambridge
has the honour of possessing this work, where it
hangs among a collection presented to the Fitz-
william Museum. I respectfully wish the Museum
joy of it. I sent ''Othello" to the British Gallery,
accompanied by Rebecca and Ivanhoe." The
*' Othello " was hung in a good place ; the

Rebecca," a much better picture, rejected ; being
the only picture I have ever had rejected from any
exhibition.

No artist can forget the first notice of him by the
press. At any rate, I shall always remember the
first public criticism on a picture of mine. In the
Ar^ Jottrnal, then called the Art Union\ appeared

VOL. I. 6

82 FIRST ATTEMPTS AT SUBJECT-PICTURES:'

a few lines of commendation, ending with, The
young painter has given proof that he thinks whilst
he labours."

I well remember attending a lecture given by
Haydon in the Suffolk Street Galleries, in which he
told us one or two interesting things — one on the
subject of public criticism. Wilkie's first exhibited
picture was the " Village Politicians." Haydon,
Jackson, and he were intimate friends and fellow-
students. On the day after the Private View at the
Royal Academy, Haydon having work of his own
in the Exhibition, " rushed," as he expressed it, for
the morning papers, where he found a favourable
notice of Wilkie's Village Politicians." He
rushed" to Wilkie's modest lodging in Sol's Row,
Hampstead Road. He and Jackson tore into the
room where Wilkie was at breakfast, and roared :
Wilkie, my boy, your name is in the paper !"
" No ! really ?" replied Wilkie ; and then the
three danced hand in hand round the breakfast-
table.

Wilkie's ''No! really 7' became so ludicrously
frequent in his conversation that Haydon determined
to try to break him of the habit, and in course of a
conversation one day in which ''No! really.'^" had
cropped up with provoking frequency, Haydon said :

" Now, Wilkie, you mustn't mind my telling you
of a habit of yours which is causing people to laugh
at you. To whatever is said to you, you give but
one reply, the two words, No ! really ?"

''No! really?' replied Wilkie.

A CALL FROM HAY DON.

In this lecture Haydon gave us some advice
direct from Vandyke. A very old lady, said he, who
had sat for her portrait to Vandyke in her youth,
sat to Hudson, Reynolds's master, in her old age.
She complained of the darkness of her complexion
as rendered by Hudson, and told that artist That
Vandyke's complexions were very different, as much
too pale," in her opinion, as Hudson's were too
dark." In passing through Vandyke's gallery at
Blackfriars, in which were many pale pictures, she
asked why he had painted with such fresh, pale
colours

Because," said Vandyke, I have to allow for
the darkening effect of time."

Of the truth of this story there could be no
doubt, for Hudson told it to Reynolds ; Reynolds
to Northcote — his pupil — Northcote to Haydon ;
and Haydon to us. Poor Haydon ! for whose
genius I feel great respect, and for whose sad
fate profound pity. I knew very little of him per-
sonally, but I may tell here of a kind act of encourage-
ment to myself. I had painted and exhibited at the
British Gallery a little picture of Dolly Varden " (of
which more afterwards, as it was the happy cause of
a friendship with Dickens, terminated only by his
death) ; and on going home one afternoon I found
my mother in a great state of excitement with an
address-card in her hand. She showed it to me
without a word, and I read the name of B. R.
Haydon. He had left a message with our servant
to the effect that he would like to see me after

6—2

84 FIRST ATTEMPTS AT ''SUBJECT-PICTURES."

seeing Dolly Polly What's-her-name," as he called
her, in the Exhibition. He wanted to talk to me
about the picture, " which you must tell him I
admired. Now, you won't forget, there's a good
girl." On the following Sunday I presented myself
at Haydon's, and found him with two immense
cartoons before him, intended for the competition
for the decoration of the Houses of Parliament.
One represented the expulsion from Paradise, the
other the entry of the Black Prince into London,
with King John of France as prisoner. Haydon
did not remember my name, and it was not till I
mentioned the Dolly " and his call in Osnaburgh
Street that he recovered from his surprise at a
strange young man calling upon him. He was then
most kind, gave me excellent technical advice, and
prophesied for me a prosperous career if I could
but guard myself against certain pernicious prac-
tices, that seemed likely to be as popular then, as
other dangerous, foolish, and ignorant views of the
real end and aim of art are now. I thought the
cartoons very fine, and said so. Glad you like
them," said Haydon ; and then pointing to a figure
of the Devil, who was drawn watching the expulsion
of Adam and Eve with an awful smile of satisfac-
tion, That is intended for Satan ; do you think it
like him ?"

When the time comes for me to notice the cartoon
competition, I shall have to speak of Haydon again ;
but now I must return to my own career. In the
year 1840 I exhibited my first Academy picture,

SAFE IN THE ACADEMY.

the subject was Malvolio, cross-gartered before the
Countess Olivia." In the same Exhibition was
Maclise's picture of the same subject, now in the
National Gallery — of which it is, I think, an orna-
ment ; where mine is, I know not, but it could
scarcely be considered an ornament anywhere.

I had no influence to aid me in getting the picture
exhibited, but my friend Williamson, the porter,
promised to let me know if I were successful, and
when a pencil note arrived in Osnaburgh Street from
the hand of Williamson, saying simply, Sir, you are
hung safte,'' there was joy amongst the Frith family,
and we had oysters for supper.

With a beating heart I waited for the opening of
the Exhibition. I w^ent hurriedly through the rooms,
and could see nothing of my picture. Presently I
saw Williamson, who read my anxiety in my face.

You're all right, sir ; come here and I'll show you ; '
and he took me into the Architecture Room, and
pointed out Malvolio's yellow stockings at the tip-top
of the room.

Could that dirty-looking thing, that seemed as if
ink had been rubbed all over it, be my bright
picture ? There was no mistake about that, but how
changed ! To the uninitiated it would be impossible
to conceive the change that appears to come over a
picture when surrounded by others in a public exhi-
bition, and subject to the glare of unaccustomed
lights and the glitter of gold frames, with the ruinous
reflections from all sides. A story is told of an artist
who sent to the Royal Academy a half-length portrait

86 FIRST ATTEMPTS AT ''SUBJECT-PICTURES."

of an Admiral ; it was his first exhibit, and being a
very excellent picture, was placed on the line in one
of the best rooms, and flanked by pictures of Acade-
micians on each side. In early days the Royal
Academicians had varnishing-days, but denied them
to outsiders. One of the Academicians, who found
himself, or rather his picture, to be the immediate
neighbour of the Admiral, was, or thought he was,
terribly damaged by the bright blue coat and realistic
gold epaulets of the naval w^arrior. All his efforts to
" paint-up " to the destructive picture were unavail-
ing, so he took a full brush of glazing colour and
toned down the Admiral. When the author of that
work cast his eyes upon it on the opening day, he
exclaimed to a friend, " I have heard of the effect of
the Exhibition upon pictures, but I will not believe
the change in mine is produced in that way. No,
by Jove! — look here ; some of those dashed R.A.'s
have been at it ! I can see the glaze all over it." A
formal complaint was made to the Council ; the guilty
R.A. acknowledged his crime, was reprimanded, and
a bye-law was made, ordering that no Academician
or other exhibitor should, under grievous penalties,
dare to paint on anybody's picture but his own. I
had never heard of the crime or the order arising out
of it, until after I w^as an Associate. At the request
of my friend Egg, I was making some trifling altera-
tion in his picture, when one of the Council came
to me, and peremptorily ordering me to stop, told
me the story of toning down the Admiral."

All this time my profession was not providing me

UNPROFITABLE PICTURES.

with income enough to "pay for my washing," as
my uncle put it. Instead of Hving to see the days
of my success, my father had died before I was
heard of as an artist. My aunt, whose sight I must
say was somewhat impaired, could see " nothing
whatever to admire in your pictures, Master
William ;" and as to anybody buying one, I had
never, up to 1840, received a farthing for any of my
pictures. After my Liverpool fifteen-pound triumph,
I either gave them away to people who didn't want
them, but were too polite to refuse them, or I
sold them to people who forgot to pay even the
modest sum demanded.

The ''Madge Wildfire" became the property of
an artist friend, who never paid for it, because, as he
said when I remonstrated, I couldn't sell it, and
was obliged to change it for a piano for my sister,
and the piano hasn't got a note to its back."

The Malvolio " was bought by a picture-dealer
for twenty pounds, and he became a bankrupt imme-
diately afterwards.

In short, if I hadn't been possessed of a dear old
mother who ministered to all my wants, I must have
gone auctioneering after all. '' And a precious deal
better for you, sir," said my uncle, "than this ridicu-
lous business of yours."

Under these circumstances, I thought it very for-
tunate that I had another call for Lincolnshire por-
traits. Some of those I had painted on my first visits
were thought good likenesses ; sufficiently so, at
any rate, to induce a demand for more. This time

88 FIRST ATTEMPTS AT ''SUBJECT-PICTURES."

I was more conscientious and careful in my work
than ever, and the result was a considerable improve-
ment all round.

I found myself employed by a higher class of
clients ; amongst them was a fox-hunting squire, a
magistrate and a hater of poachers, every one of
whom when brought before him he would have
hanged if he could. He was a fine-looking old
fellow, with a very handsome family of sons and
daughters. A domestic trouble had driven his wife,
a most lovely creature, away from her home. The
story went that she declared with many tears that
she was innocent of the sin imputed to her, and
on her knees prayed for blindness if she were false
in word or deed."

The proofs of her guilt, however, were over-
whelming, and she was sent to Wales, where she
lived many years, and became totally blind I She
was allowed at last to return and inhabit a little cot-
tage in her husband's park, where her family, now
grown up, occasionally visited her, but the Squire
never. Although she, being sightless, need not have
known of his visit, if he had chosen to pay her one,
nothing would induce him to go near her. At last
the inevitable hour came to her, as it will come to all
of us. I had heard she was dangerously ill, and,
during one of the last sittings for the portrait, as I
was working away listening to the Squire's stories,
his eldest son came into our temporary studio with
very red eyes, and said something in an undertone
to his father.

^.V IMPLACABLE SQUIRE.

No said the old squire, I zuilL not and the
son left the room.

Pray don't think of me or the picture, Squire,"
said I. I have very Httle to do to finish the sitting,
and can do it almost as well without you, if you
want "

Did you see that boy ?" broke in the Squire (the
boy was over thirty) ; ''he had been crying, a great
fellow like that. And for what ? — troubling himself
about his mother, who has done nothing all her life

but trouble us. I go to see her! I'll see her

But there, go on with your work ;" and before I had
finished my work the poor woman had died without
her husband's forgiveness, for which, I was told, she
implored with bitter tears.

Soon after this my second ''provincial tour" of
portrait-painting came to an end, and again I re-
turned to the little back parlour in Osnaburgh Street,
this time determined to rival my artist friends, who
were all more or less successfully engaged in paint-
ing subject-pictures, exhibiting them (when or where
they could get them admitted), and sometimes,
though not always, selling them.

CHAPTER IX.

MY FIRST SUCCESS.

The Art Union had been established some Httle
time, and had been the means of assisting many
young painters, who without such aid would have
been compelled to abandon their profession. Good
and evil are mixed together in all human institutions,
and the Art Union of London is an example of the
truth of the rule. Subscribers to that lottery are
allowed to select their picture prizes, and the conse-
quence is that works of indifferent merit are often
chosen, and men are encouraged in the pursuit of
art who ought never to have studied it at all. So
much for the mischief of the Art Union. For the
other side, instances could be shown of pictures of
undoubted merit having escaped from being returned
unsold to their producers, by enlightened selectors of
Art Union prizes. For example, Maclise's picture
of the Sleeping Beauty," now in the possession of
Mr. Pender, M.P., was the chief prize in the year
1840. My admiration for Maclise, owing much to
youthful and, I fear, somewhat mistaken enthusiasm,
scarcely stopped short of worship — his ^^ower of

MACLISE.

drawing, his prodigality of invention, the faciHty
with which he grouped crowds of figures, and the
splendour of imagination displayed in all he did,
carried me away captive, and influenced my practice
to its detriment.

Under happier circumstances I have always be-
lieved, and still believe, that Maclise would have been
one of the greatest artists that ever lived, if his birth
had been put back two or three centuries, and he had
been coerced as the great masters were, and sub-
jected to a seven years' apprenticeship to one of the
old Venetians. Then the redundancy of his imagina-
tion, and the facility with which he reproduced its
images, would have been subjected to a discipline
that would have enforced a continual study of nature,
and a constant copying from it, in everything he
would have been permitted to attempt. Instead of
such mediaeval training, after a perfunctory education
at the Royal Academy, the bright young fellow was
left to his own unaided and "Will-o'-the-wisp"
efforts. His great natural powers betrayed him ; he
painted huge compositions of figures without using
models. His sense of colour, never very strong,
was destroyed by his constant indulgence in the
baleful practice of painting without nature before
him. His eyes, as he told me himself, saw the
minutest details at distances impossible to ordinary
vision. He was evidently proud of his eyes, and he
indulged them to the utter destruction of breadth"
in his pictures. As to colour, he gave it up alto-
gether ; and when any reference was made to the

MY FIRST SUCCESS.

old masters or the National Gallery, Maclise ex-
pressed his contempt in much the same words as
those of another mistaken clever brother R.A., who
would 'Mike to burn them all from Moscow to
Madrid."

I would not have attempted this autobiography if
I had not possessed myself with the hope of being
of service to my young brethren, either in the way of
warning from my own mistakes, or from those of
others ; and I take Maclise as a specially typical
instance of the perversion of remarkable powers.
As a man, Maclise, whom I knew well in after life,
was delightful in every way ; very handsome in
person, and of a generous and noble disposition ; en-
thusiastic in his appreciation of contemporary work,
free from the slightest taint of envy of others, and
universally regretted when he died, after having
scarcely passed middle life. The last speech Dickens
made in public was at the Academy banquet follow-
ing Maclise's death, when the great writer in a few
pathetic and eloquent words, never to be forgotten —
lamenting the untimely death of his friend — declared
his belief, that if instead of art, literature had been
Maclise's aim, a great, or greater success than that he
had achieved in art, would have attended him in
letters.

I have said that my worship of Maclise resulted
in some damage to myself Of course I copied his
faults. His facility of design being beyond my
power of imitation, I fell back on his love of detail,
and the absence of truth and nature in the colour-

BLIND IMITATORS.

ing of his flesh ; and these failings I reproduced
so successfully as to give me afterwards enor-
mous trouble to correct. I remember a youno-
artist friend saying to me : " Maclise is out
and away the greatest artist that ever lived.
There isn't an old master fit to hold a candle
to him ; and if I could only get some of his
worst qualities into my pictures I should be satis-
fied."

I confess I shared those foolish sentiments to a
great extent ; but I speedily found out my mistake
— a condition of mind I heartily desire for some
young painters who at this time are worshipping
false gods, with bodies of brass and feet of clay ; at
whose shrine the chief high-priest is a mountebank
without the excuse of ignorance or want of capacity
to explain the prostitution of talents, if not genius,
to purposes so absurd as to make it a world's wonder
how any follow^ers of such a craze can exist for a
moment.

Until a young painter finds out his natural bent,
— if he have one — he is apt not only to imitate the
manner of his favourite artist, but to try to paint
similar subjects, illustrate the same book or poem,
or in some way or other follow in the revered foot-
steps. Strong-headed men avoid this pitfall. I fell
into it, and when Maclise painted men in armour, I
did a man in armour too. Maclise had done a lady
in a red jacket taking leave of a knight in armour
— one of the finest things ever done in the world, I
thought — and I immediately tried to do something^

MY FIRST SUCCESS.

like it. My man was also a knight who, having
alighted at an inn for refreshment, and finding him-
self waited upon by a damsel in a red jacket, pro-
ceeded to demean himself in a somewhat ungentle-
manly, and therefore unknightly, fashion. He had

" Carved his meal
With gloves of steel,"

and probably taken more Malvoisie than was good
for him, and forthwith made desperate love to the
maid ; who with a smiling countenance listened to his
raptures, expressed by a hideous grin on his bearded
face, as with one arm round the red waist and the
other raised on high, holding the brimming cup,
he vowed eternal constancy, or something of the
kind.

I don't know what became of that great work. If
the possessor should by chance read these lines, I
hope he will be induced to allow me to see my early
friend once more. In it I succeeded so well in repro-
ducing nearly all Maclise's worst qualities, that a
candid friend said on seeing ''The Knight and Maid
of the Hostelry" — as I christened the picture —
''Hullo! you are coming Maclise over us. I'll
tell you what, old fellow, that thing will be sold for a
bad Maclise some clay, and you will have an action
brought against you."

Armour, with its sheen and glitter, has always been
in favour with young painters, either as an important
factor in still life, or as an inspiration, often the sole
inspiration, in pictures of chivalrous character. I
remember one, the production of a young friend of

DICKENS AS AN ART CRITIC.

Dickens, of whom I shall have more to say hereafter.
The picture represented a very ancient and noble-
looking knight, who had sunk down at the foot of
an old tree, overcome w^ith the fatigue of his journey
from the wars, within what appeared to be easy
reach of his castle ; the battlements of which were
visible amongst the trees. Some children, also ap-
parently of noble birth — his grandchildren, perhaps —
were timidly offering him some apples, the produce
in all probability of the orchard in which the old man
was resting. I knew Dickens took great interest in
the young artist, and in this his first work, and
meeting him one day, I asked his opinion.

A capital picture," said Dickens, in his hearty
way. " I was delighted to see it. Armour beauti-
fully done. Apples too — only I think the old boy
was too far gone for apples. It would require bttrnt
brandy, and a good deal of it, to bring him to."

The year following the exhibition of my
*'Malvolio" I sent to the Academy a picture from

Kenilworth ;" the subject was an interview between
Leicester and his Countess Amy, when, at the end of
one of the wicked earl's stolen visits to Cumnor
Place, he is anxious to free himself from the lady's
importunity, and in reply to her remonstrance, Did
ever lady with bare foot in slipper seek boon
of brave knight, yet return with denial T he says :
''Anything, Amy, that thou canst ask I will grant,
except that which will ruin us both." All this
simply because the poor woman desired that her
marriage should be no longer kept secret. I had

MY FIRST SUCCESS.

been to Knole House — that delightful hunting-
ground for artists, now unhappily closed to us — and
had made studies of King James's bed and other
details for my picture, all of which I painted very
carefully ; and the result was, that as human beings are
more difficult to render than chairs and bedsteads,
my picture was more admired for the still-life ob-
jects than for the living creatures. Once more I
figured in the Architecture Room, but lower on the
wall, and I entirely escaped the notice of both critics
and purchasers. What became of my Kenilworth
picture, or whether it was sold or given away — the
latter most likely — I cannot remember.

My delusion with regard to Maclise was soon over,
so far as imitation of his manner was concerned ;
but the example set by him in illustrating Gil
Bias " and the "Vicar of Wakefield" caused so many
Vicars and Gil Biases to blossom on the walls
of the Exhibitions from the hands of many admirers,
that the critics fell foul of us ; and Thackeray, who
was the critic in Eraser of that day, declined to give
the names of either Gil Bias or the Vicar in full,

but always wrote of the latter as the " V r of

W d," and warned us that if our servile con-
duct was persevered in, he would never look at
pictures of either of those distinguished individuals,
much less write about them.

I now come to what I may call my first success,
and the subject was taken from the much-tormented
"Vicar of Wakefield," the scene being that in which
Mrs. Primrose makes her daughter and Squire

ON THE LINE.

Thornhill stand up together to see which is the
taller, a transparent device which, as the good old
book says, she thought impenetrable. To my in-
tense delight this picture was hung upon the line,
that envied, coveted position which so many are
destined to long for, but never to occupy. I confess
I was as much astonished as I was delighted, for I
had no interest, not knowing a single member of the
Academy.

Acting upon what I thought the wildest advice, I
fixed the price of a hundred guineas upon the
picture, and it was bought on the Private-View
day by an Art Union prize-holder, Mr. Zouch
Troughton, who is now my very old friend. My
cup was full.

Never," said I to an artist friend, who I
thought might have congratulated me on my
success, " will I be off the line again !"

Never be on it again, you mean," was the reply.
And if you will take my advice, you will go as
often as you can to the Exhibition and enjoy your-
self, for you may never have another chance."

As poor Haydon said to us in his lecture on the
subject of Public Criticism, It is no doubt pleasant
to read printed praise attached to your name ; but if
you live long enough you will find your name in the
papers in a form that will make you wish it out
again."

I was not long in experiencing the truth of this.
One criticism on the ''Vicar of Wakefield" picture
in a leading paper began thus: ''Mr. Frith is a

VOL. I. 7 /V

MY FIRST SUCCESS.

rising artist, and he has already risen to the height
of affectation," etc., etc. This is all I can remember,
but much more of similar severity followed.

I would here advise all artists, young and old,
never to read art criticism. Nothing is to be
learnt from it. Let me ask any painter if, when
he wants advice upon any difficulty in the conduct
of his work, he would seek it from an art critic ? — •
No, I reply for him ; he would apply to an artist
friend. But though, as I belie\ e, no advantage
accrues in any case to an artist from public criticism,
much undeserved pain is often inflicted, and even
injury caused, by the virulent attacks that sometimes
disgrace the press. For very many years — indeed
ever since I became convinced of the profound
ignorance of the writers — I have never read a word
of art criticism. That accounts for your not paint-
ing better," I hear the critic say. I think not ; but
I have no doubt saved myself from a good deal of
annoyance.

I have said before that I believe little or no envy
of each other's success exists amongst artists ; but
my friend who prophesied no more " line " space for
me was an exception to the rule. If ever there was
a disappointed artist, he was one, and he candidly
showed his disappointment and envy on all available
occasions. He was a portrait-painter, when he
could induce anybody to sit to him, and he some-
times painted tolerable portraits ; but when they
failed he fell foul of Shakespeare and other poets.
He once told me of what he called a piece of rude-

DANGER OF PREMATURE SUCCESS.

ness offered to him by a sitter, whose portrait was
better looking than the original in everybody's eyes
but his own. At first the victim refused to pay,
but yielded after pressure. He then said to my
friend: ''Well, loads of my friends have seen my
likeness, and they say it is tolerable — and it may
be ; a man can't judge of his own appearance — but I
bargained for a good picture, not a tolerable picture.
How would you like a tolerable egg ?"

I remember walking down Portland Place with
my friend, w^ho had suffered from a long interregnum
of sitters, and looking up at the stately houses, he
said : There, just look at that place — what tremen-
dous rooms there must be in it ! what walls for
whole lengths ! And just look at that old fellow
coming out — there's a picture ! and I can't get a
single thing to do !"

There is no doubt that premature success some-
times turns the heads of young artists. Everybody
has heard of " Single-speech Hamilton." That
orator was a member of Parliament, and once — and
once only — he made a brilliant speech. So remark-
able was it, that his elevation to high honour was
considered to be assured. Single-picture painters
crop up now and then — I have seen several ex-
amples.

For myself, I can truly say my success acted as a
spur to further exertion, and so sure did I feel that I
had a fair field and no favour, that I instantlyset about
a large composition, consisting of all, or nearly all,
the characters in the Merry Wives of Windsor,"

lOO

MY FIRST SUCCESS.

assembled in front of Page's house.. Falstaff, sweet
Anne Page, Slender, and the fat man's followers.
Millais sat for me for Mrs. Page's little son, and I
thought I was fortunate in realizing many of the
characters. The picture was large, elaborately
finished, and it went to the Ac?idemy, followed by
much commendation from friends, and a good deal
of satisfaction from myself.

None but artists know the dreadful anxiety of
those weeks of waiting till the fate of many months
of labour is decided. I was anxious enough ; but
as I knew I had improved, I could not conceive the
possibility of o?ie effort being thought worthy of one
of the des^ places in the Exhibition, and another, after
a year's experience, being only thought deserving of
the zuorst. Such, how^ever, was my unhappy fate.
In the worst room's worst light hung my unfortunate
picture. Very high, opposite the wretched little
window of the dreadful Octagon Room, was thought
a sufficiently good position for Falstaff and his friends.
Again, if I had been quite dependent on my pro-
fession for my bread I must have starved, and to
this hour I feel I was treated unjustly.

I well remember dear kind Etty mounting some
steps to look at my work, and when he descended
he pressed my hand, and in his gentle voice he
said : Very cruel, very cruel."

The subsequent fate of the picture should be related.
After the close of the R.A. Exhibition I sent it to
Liverpool, where it must have been better seen, for
it found a purchaser for a hundred pounds. At

A CONVERTED ACADEMICIAN.

loi

my request the owner allowed me to exhibit the
picture again in London. At that time the Exhibi-
tion of the British Institution existed, and it was
mostly filled with pictures which had been previously
seen at the Academy.

Without a sanguine expectation of success I sent
in my work, and it was hung in a centre place on the
line. When I entered the gallery on the varnishing-
day, one of the three Academicians who had con-
demned Falstaff to the Octagon Room, was looking
at my work, and evidently speaking of it to a friend
of mine.

What does the old wretch say ?" said I, as I
drew my friend on one side.

" Why, he says, if your picture had been in the
state it now is, it would have had a first-rate place
at the Academy. He says you have worked all
over it, and improved it wonderfully."

And did you tell him it had never been touched
since he murdered it ?"

Yes, I did, and he said he didn't believe a word
of that."

One of the greatest difficulties besetting me has
always been the choice of subject. My inclination
being strongly towards the illustration of modern
life, I had read the w^orks of Dickens in the hope of
finding material for the exercise of any talent I
might possess ; but at that time the ugliness of
modern dress frightened me, and it was not till the
publication of " Barnaby Rudge," and the delightful
Dolly Varden was presented to us, that I felt my

102

MY FIRST SUCCESS.

opportunity had come, with the cherry-coloured
mantle and the hat and pink ribbons.

It would be difficult to convey to the present
generation the intense delight with which each new
work of Dickens was received ; and I can easily
believe the story that was current at the time of the
sick man, who, lying as was thought on his death-bed,
and listening apparently with becoming reverence to
the warnings of his clergyman — was heard to
mutter as the divine left the room — "That's all
very well. Thank goodness, a new number of
' Pickwick ' comes out on Wednesday."

I found a capital model for Dolly, and I painted
her in a variety of attitudes. First, where she is
admiring a bracelet given her by Miss Haredale ;
then as she leans laughing against a tree ; then
again, in an interview with Miss Haredale, where
she is the bearer of a letter from that lady's lover;
and again, when on being accused of a penchant for
Joe, she declares indignantly, She hoped she could
do better than ^/laf, indeed !"

These pictures easily found purchasers, though for
sums small enough. The laughing Dolly, after-
wards engraved, became very popular, replicas of it
being made for Dickens's friend, John Forster, and
others.

It goes without saying that I had read all that
Dickens had written, beginning with the ''Sketches
by Boz ;" and I can well remember my disappoint-
ment when I found that the real name of the author
was Dickens. I refused to belie\^e that such a

lOJ

genius could have such a vulgar name ; and now
what a halo surrounds it !

I had never seen the man, who in my estimation
was, and is, one of the greatest geniuses that ever
lived ; my sensations therefore may be imagined
when I received the following letter :

" I, Devonshire Terrace,

"York Gate, Regent's Park,

"November 15, 1842.

My dear Sir,

I shall be very glad if you will do me the
favour to paint me two little companion pictures ;
one, a Dolly Varden (whom you have so exquisitely
done already), the other, a Kate Nickleby.

" Faithfully yours always,

"Charles Dickens.

"P.S. — I take it for granted that the original picture
of Dolly with the bracelet is sold."

My mother and I cried over that letter, and the
wonder is that anything is left of it, for I showed it
to every friend I had, and was admired and envied
by all.

And now came the fear that I might fail in again
satisfying the author.

Kate Nickleby, too! Impossible, perhaps, to please
the author of her being with my presentment of her
— but I must try. And many were the sketches I
made, till I fixed upon a scene at Madame
Mantalini's — where Kate figures as a work-woman —

104

MY FIRST SUCCESS.

the point chosen being at the moment when her
thoughts wander from her work, as she sits sewing
a ball-dress spread upon her knees.

Dolly Varden was represented tripping through
the w^oods, and looking back saucily at her lover.

The pictures were finished, and a letter was
written to say so. See me then in hourly and
very trembling expectation of a visit from a man
whom I thought superhuman. A knock at the door.

Come in." Enter a pale young man w^ith long
hair, a white hat, a formidable stick in his left hand,
and his right extended to me with a frank cordiality,
and a friendly clasp, that never relaxed till the clay of
his untimely death.

The pictures were on the easel. He sat down
before them, and I stood waiting for the verdict in
an agony of mind that was soon relieved by his
cheery —

''All I can say is, they are exactly what I meant,
and I am very much obliged to you for painting
them for me."

I muttered something, and if I didn't look very
foolish, my looks belied my sensations.

" Shall you be at home on Sunday afternoon? I
should like to bring Mrs. Dickens and my sister-in-
law to see how well you have done your work.
May I ?"

" By all means. I shall be delighted."
Sunday came, and Dickens with it.
I was standing at the house-door, when a carriage
driven by Boz " drove up to it, the bright steel bar

KATE NICKLEBY ADVERTISED EOR,

105

in front giving the turn-out " a very striking ap-
pearance to one like myself not at all accustomed to
curricles. 'Tis enough to say the ladies approved,
and Dickens gave me a cheque for forty pounds for
the two pictures.

I hope I may be excused for telling in this place
that "Dolly" and her companion were sold at
Christie's, after Dickens's death, for thirteen hundred
guineas. I am ignorant of the local habitation of
either of the pictures at the present time. That
" Dolly," quite the best of the series, was never
engraved. Kate Nickleby" was more fortunate.
An engraver applied through me to Dickens, who
readily consented to part with the picture for a
*' reasonable time."

It appeared that a difference of opinion existed
between Dickens and the engraver as to the meaning
of that phrase, for after waiting for his picture for
two or three years, I received from Dickens the
following evidence that his patience was becoming
exhausted :

' ' A dvcrtisemcnt,

*'To K — e N y (the young lady in black).

" K — N , if you will return to your

disconsolate friends in Devonshire Terrace, your
absence in Ireland will be forgotten and forgiven,
and you will be received with open arms. Think of
your dear sister, Dolly, and how altered her appear-
ance and character are without you ! She is not the

io6

MY FIRST SUCCESS.

same girl. Think, too, of the author of your being,
and what he must feel when he sees your place
empty every day !

October lo, 1848."

The reading of Dickens's works has no doubt en-
gendered a love for the writer in thousands of hearts.
How that affection would have been increased could
his readers have had personal knowledge of the man,
can only be known to those who, like myself, had
the happiness of his intimate acquaintance.

Of Dickens's great rival, Thackeray, I had but
slight knowledge, only, indeed, sufficient to prejudice
me strongly, and I have no doubt foolishly, against
him. Under his pseudonym of Michael Angelo
Titmarsh, Thackeray had written a charming
criticism of a picture of mine in Fi^aser s Magazine,
and as he had already given sufficient proof in
literary work that he was a giant among men, I
was very curious to see him, and, if possible, to make
his acquaintance. Between forty and fifty years
ago, a club called " The Deanery " existed in Dean
Street, Soho ; the members being chiefly literary
men, artists, lawyers, and such like, with a sprinkling
of men of no special mark. Amongst the latter was
a friend of my own, who invited me to dine with
him on an evening when Thackeray was pretty sure
to be at the club. My friend expressed his regret
that the man I so much desired to see was not in the
dining-room, but he had little doubt of our finding
him afterwards in the smoking-room, to which we

QUIZZED BY THACKERAY.

107

adjourned later in the evening. I may startle some
of my acquaintance by declaring that I am, and
always have been, a highly nervous, retiring, and
modest person — indeed, I often regret my timidity —
and if I had been more impudent and self-assertive
I should have been more successful in the world.
Like a wicked old lady, a friend of Mulready's, who
assured him, when drawing very near the close of
an erratic life, that if she had only been virtuous it
would have been pounds and pounds in her pocket" !
I feel that though I might not have been more
virtuous I should have been more prosperous, if a
kind of panic, created by a knowledge of my own
shortcomings, had not so often made me dumb when
I ought to have been more self-assertive.

My friend and I entered the Deanery smoking-
room and found a very convivial party ; all intimately
acquainted seemingly, listening to a song from a
gentleman called Mahony, who, under the name of
Father Prout, had made himself somewhat celebrated.
By his side sat a big man, to whom I was introduced,
and I had the honour of a hand-shake by the great
Thackeray. I was very young at the time, although
I had just been elected an Associate of the Academy,
and I sat in awe-struck silence listening to the
brilliant talk of those men. Some one called on
Thackeray for a song, and he instantly struck up
one of his own writing, as I was told. I forget the
words, but I remember two individuals — Gorgeing
Jack and Guzzling Jimmy — who seemed to be the
presiding geniuses of it. No sooner had the applause

io8

MY FIRST SUCCESS.

accorded to it subsided, than Thackeray turned

to me and said : Now then, Frith, you d d

saturnine young Academician, sing us a song !"

I was dumb before this address, and far too con-
founded to say anything in reply. Encouraged,
perhaps, by my proving myself such an easy butt,
the attack was renewed a little later in the evening :
"I'll tell you w^hat it is, Frith, you had better go
home ; your aunt is sitting up for you with a big
muffin." Again I was paralyzed, and shortly after
I went home.

After this I contented myself with admiration for
the works of the great author, without feeling any
desire for a more intimate acquaintance with the man.
Of course, I often met Thackeray afterwards, but I
never gave him an opportunity for renewing his
playful attacks. I know very well that Thackeray
was much beloved by those who knew him inti-
mately, and I have often been abused by some of
his friends (notably by dear Leech) for my absurd
anger at what was meant for a joke ; but I submit
that such attacks on an inoffensive stranger were
very poor jokes, and even after the long lapse of
time I feel humiliated and pained in recalling them.

The very nature of an autobiography entails upon
the writer such a constant use of the first person
singular as to make his performance egotistical in
the extreme, and though I hope, in the course of
my narrative, I shall have a good deal to say of
other people, I must perforce talk much of myself
and my own doings.

VISIT TO ANTWERP.

109

To resume, then. I felt my banishment to the
Octagon Room (a detestable closet, still to be seen at
the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square) so keenly,
that a kind of despair seized me, and I adopted the
advice of my friends and started for a trip up the
Rhine with my friend Egg, taking Antwerp and
Brussels eji route to Cologne, pausing at the former
places where we expected to find some of the art-
treasures of the world. Our anticipations were
fully realized, but I shall say little about them in
this place, for a second visit was made to the
country of the great Dutch and Flemish painters
some years later (a full account of which will be
found in the succeeding pages of these reminis-
cences), when I found that several years' study had
enabled me better to appreciate the powers of great
artists.

At Antwerp, Rubens is seen in all his glory. A
terrible sense of inferiority takes possession of all
sensible painters on seeing the works of the greatest
men. To approach them, much less rival them,
seems utterly hopeless. This depressing feeling has
to be subdued ; and then a reverent study of the
methods and principles displayed in immortal works
will improve all who study them with intelligence.
Mere copying is of little service, as it is generally
— to use Sir Joshua's words — but "industrious idle-
ness."

At the time of which I am speaking, the modern
exhibition in Paris, nov/ called the Salon, took place
in the Louvre ; the modern pictures being hung in

I lO

front of the old masters. The admirable drawing
and, in many instances, the great beauty and careful
finish of the pictures by some of the best French
painters — who in those days exhibited amongst their
less eminent brethren — inspired me with a deter-
mination to go home and " do likewise." On my
return, I began another composition from the tabooed
"Vicar of Wakefield," the subject being " Thornhill
relating his London adventures to the Vicar's
family," and a smaller picture of " Knox reproving
Mary Queen of Scots." The "Vicar" again took
his place upon the line, the "Knox" was a little
below it, but in an excellent position ; so, in spite of
my friend's prediction, I was again on the line, and
for the last eight-and-forty years I have never been
off it. In the same Exhibition with my " Vicar of
Wakefield" and "John Knox" was anothei^ subject
from the "Vicar," and anotliei^ "John Knox;" the
former being an exquisite picture called the " Whis-
tonian Controversy " (by Mulready), and the other,
*'Knox reproving the Ladies of Queen Mary's Court "
(by Chalon). Thereby hangs a tale.

In the following summer, but while the Exhibition
w^as still open, I was sketching in Stoke Pogeis
Churchyard. This place, being the supposed scene
of Gray's "Elegy," and the burial-place of the poet, is
much frequented by tourists ; and one day when I
was far advanced with an oil-sketch of the ivy-
covered church, a gentleman and some ladies, after
admiring the church, marched across the graves and
began to admire my representation of it. The

MISTAKEN FOR MULREADY.

Ill

gentleman, who was what is called a languid
swell," with Dundreary whiskers and a fashionable
drawl, thus addressed me :

" How very charming ! Look," he said to his
lady friends, " how delightfully the ivy is touched
in !" And then, again addressing himself to me, he
said : ''I feel sure an artist who paints so well
must be an exhibitor at the Royal Academy. May
1 ask if I am right ?"
Quite right," said I.

Then he said, in tones of affected apology :
May 1 ask if you exhibit this year in the Exhibi-
tion now open ?"

"Yes ; I have two pictures in the Exhibition."
Then I must have seen them, of course ; would
you mind naming the subjects .^"

"Well, one is taken from the 'Vicar of Wake-
field,' and the other " but before I could say

another word I was stopped by a loud exclamation
of delight at his having the honour of speaking to
the painter of the " Whistonian Controversy."

"You remember that splendid work, dear Miss
Something-or-other — the obstinacy of the Vicar's
opponent so wonderfully done," etc., etc.

I allowed him to exhaust himself with admiration,
and then quiedy told him he had made a mistake,
and that the "Whistonian Controversy" was by
Mulready, R.A.

" But I understood you to say that your picture
is from the ' Vicar of Wakefield ' r

" So it is, but from quite another part of the book.

112

MY FIRST SUCCESS.

My picture represents Squire Thornhill relating
his town adventures to the Vicar's family."

Ha ! oh — yes — dear me— well now, I can't re-
member seeing that. Did you see what this gentle-
man describes, Miss So-and-so?"

" No ; we must have missed it somehow."

And the second picture," said the gentleman,
you were so kind as to — er

''The second," said I, ''was John Knox
and "

" Oh !" exclaimed one of the ladies, ''we saw ^/la/,
and thought it so beautiful !"

" Yes," said the gentleman, apparently quite re-
lieved and delighted to find that he had seen one of
my works at any rate. "It is indeed a charming
picture. You remember," turning to his friends,
"how lovely we thought the dancing ladies, con-
trasting so admirably with the imposing figure of
Knox. Sir, I must congratulate you on producing
so great a work."

" I am really sorry," said I, " but you are wrong
again ; the ' Knox ' you speak of is painted by Chalon,
R.A." Again I described my own picture, and
again the party had to confess that by some strange
mischance they had overlooked my second contribu-
tion to the Exhibition as completely as they had the
first.

The party took their leave of me, determined — at
least, so they said — to go again to Trafalgar Square
on purpose to see works which they really could not
forgive themselves for having so stupidly missed.

CHAPTER X.

ELECTED AN ASSOCIATE.

A GREAT change has taken place since the year
1844, when such men as Sheepshanks, Vernon,
Miller, Gibbons, and others were collecting works
of modern art, influenced by the love of it, and
not by the notion of investment so common in
the last few years. Prominent among the former
class of purchasers was Mr. Gibbons, a Birmingham
banker, whose acquaintance I made through the
exhibition of two pictures at the annual exhibition in
that tow^n. On finding that both were sold, Mr.
Gibbons commissioned me to paint him some sub-
ject from Sterne or Goldsmith, and I suggested for
illustration the well-known verse in the " Deserted
Village," which describes the village parson leaving
his church, when

*' Children followed with endearing wile.
And pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile."

The scene is in the churchyard, and many
peasants and their wives crowd round the clergy-
man, making a very elaborate composition. The

VOL. I. 8

114

ELECTED AN ASSOCIATE.

price of the picture was fixed at two hundred pounds,
a larger sum than I had received for any picture at
that time. Mr. Gibbons was an elderly man in
delicate health, with a great love of art, and very
considerable knowledge of it ; in fact, a polished,
well-educated gentleman. He came to live in
London, and w^atched the progress of the " Village
Pastor " with very intelligent and, to me, most
agreeable interest. If he disapproved of any
detail he would " hint the fault and hesitate dislike,"
always in the kindest spirit, and I generally found his
criticism serviceable.

The w^ork advanced rapidly and I thought suc-
cessfully, and in due time made its appearance in
Trafalgar Square, where it was amongst the fortu-
nate liners."

I had not long made the acquaintance of one of
the most delightful of English landscape-painters,
and meeting him in the Exhibition, he advised me to
put my name down for the degree of Associate, an
honour already in his own possession. I well re-
member what wild folly the idea seemed to me, and
said :

You are surely joking ; what chance have I of
being made an Associate

" Not any," said he ; but I would advise you to
put down your name, so as to familiarize the Royal
Academicans with it."

No, no!" said I ; "it's too absurd."

Well, then, I will do it for you," said Creswick,
and it was well for me he did.

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE.

The ''Village Pastor" made a favourable impres-
sion on the public generally, and many were the
compliments I received from the source most valued,
namely, my brother artists.

When an election takes place of either Associate
or Academician, great is the excitement amongst the
aspirants ; and rare indeed is it that the clay of elec-
tion is unknown to any of those whose names are on
the list from which the choice is to be made. I can
most truly say I was one of the ignorant, for though
Creswick had said he would put down my name, I
never gave the matter another thought, so impossible
did it seem to me that a very young man — who was
but just before the public, not having exhibited more
than two or three pictures that had attracted any
notice — should have the remotest chance of success
in the election for which I thought there must be
many more worthy candidates.

My profound astonishment, therefore, may be
imagined when one of the Academy porters, my old
friend Williamson, called to tell me that I was made
what he called ''a A.R.A." It could not be — it was
not to be believed.

If this is a joke, Williamson," said I, feeling
myself turn very pale, " it is not a kind one."

"Joke, sir! Lord bless you, you was elected all
right night before last. I thought you must have
heerd on it."

I think the porter had my diploma — signed by
Turner, pro President, with Howard's name as Sec-
retary attached to it — which he handed to me from a

8—2

ii6

ELECTED AN ASSOCIATE.

portfolio, but I am not certain of that particular ; but
what I am quite sure of is, that in a few hours it
was in my possession, making "assurance doubly
sure."

It was a custom at that time for all newly elected
members to call upon the Academicians to make the
acquaintance of those august individuals, and to
respectfully thank them for what was, in many
instances, imaginary support. This ceremony has
not fallen into complete desuetude ; but its observ-
ance has occasionally led to embarrassment, and
much discomfort, to the newly-fledged Associate. It
could not be pleasant, for instance, for painter of
great ability, whose pictures had been the observed
of all observers " for some years, to be received by
an old Academician in the following fashion : Yes,
there was an election last night I know, but I
couldn't go ; my doctor won't let me go out at night.
Ah ! things are so altered ; my old friends are all
gone. Well, I suppose I must congratulate you.
You are an architect, ain't you ?"

For myself, I had little to complain of ; I had
heard of the danger of " thanking people for assist-
ance that might not have been afforded," and I
therefore confined myself to a few platitudes about
being unworthy of the honour, but determined to
prove my devotion to the interests of Art and the
Academy," etc. One candid old gentleman, who
told me he had known Sir Joshua Reynolds, imme-
diately denied all complicity in my election. Not,
my dear young man, that you may not deserve your

A PLEASANT RECEPTION.

117

good fortune — I cannot say, for I have never seen
any of your work." Many of the Forty were either
from home, or pretended to be ; but I caught Mr.
H. W. Pickersgill, the well-known and accomplished
portrait-painter of that period, and who then lived in
Soho Square. He received me very kindly, and in
the middle of an eloquent exhortation as to my future
conduct, Mrs. Pickersgill entered the room. She was
a very handsome old lady, with a ravishing smile,
and beautiful teeth — so wonderfully beautiful as to
raise doubts as to their origin. I was instantly
introduced to her.

This young gentleman, my dear, is Mr. Frith."

Well," said Mrs. Pickersgill.

Mr. Frith, my dear, was elected an Associate of
the Royal Academy the other evening."

" Welly' replied the lady, "he is no better for
that."

My election found me at work upon two pictures ;
one being an illustration of Moliere's Bourgeois
Gentilhomme," a commission from Mr. Gibbons ;
the other a scene from Gray's " Elegy," which was
also a commission from Mr. Farrer, a well-known
picture-dealer and connoisseur of that day. I think
neither of these pictures fulfilled the expectations
raised by the "Village Pastor," either in my friends or
myself ; and I felt the imperative necessity of imme-
diately embarking on some subject of such impor-
tance as should justify my election, by the manner in
which I should execute the work.

In the meantime I attended my first banquet at

ii8

ELECTED AN ASSOCIATE.

the Royal Academy. The great dinner that takes
place before the opening of the Exhibition is gener-
ally considered ^/ze public dinner of the year, and
when it is understood that those eligible to take part
in that remarkable gathering must either be persons
of exalted rank, or great as statesmen, military or
naval heroes, ecclesiastical or legal dignitaries, or
eminent professors of science or literature, or (if
last, by no means least) well-known patrons of art, it
is evident that an assemblage almost unique must be
the result.

It has been my good fortune to assist at a great
many Academy banquets, but the first dwells still
vividly in my memory. Sir Martin Shee, the then
President, took the chair ; with the great Duke of
Wellington on his left, some royal prince or duke on
his right. The tables were filled with distinguished
persons, whose names were of course familiar to
me, and whose personal appearance I was curious to
become acquainted with, for in those days photo-
graphy did not make known to us, as it does now,
the faces and figures of nearly every celebrity. The
assembling of the guests amongst the pictures before
the dinner was therefore watched with intense
interest.

On this occasion political animosity seemed to
-sleep. I saw the Prime Minister in friendly talk with
the leader of the Opposition ; well-known political
antagonists of less prominence chatted together*.
The Duke of Wellington, catalogue in hand, was
examining a picture, when the Marquis of Anglesey,

THE ROYAL ACADEMY BANQUET.

lame from the loss of his leg at Waterloo, tapped
him on the shoulder. Black silk breeches were
occasionally worn at that time, and Sir Martin
Archer Shee, Sir Robert Peel, and several others,
adopted the style of dress then fast dying out, but
one far more becoming than the trouser fashion that
succeeded it.

As the youngest member, I was placed very
properly in the worst position at the dinner-table,
close to the door, through which a cruel draught
played ever and anon upon me. But little did I
think of such a drawback when, after the toast of
''The Army and Navy," the great Duke rose to reply.
I can see him now, the gray head bent, in acknow-
ledgment of the thunder of applause that greeted
him, the broad blue ribbon of the Garter across the
white waistcoat, and then the thin piping voice in
which, in a few well-chosen words, he replied to the
toast. Other speakers there were, of course, more
to the manner born ; but none interested me like
the " Prince of Waterloo."

The banquet took place in the large room of the
present National Gallery — nearest to St. Martin's
Church — at that time in the possession of the Royal
Academy. The principal table, from which branch
tables were projected, was placed round the room,
leaving space between it and the pictures for the
service of the dinner, and for the guests— if they were
so minded — to examine the pictures. I believe it is
pretty well knowm that the great Duke had no
sympathy with poetry or poets, and not unfrequently

I20

ELECTED AN ASSOCIATE.

expressed his contempt for both. No wonder then
that quotations from the famous manuscript poem,
called the " Fallacies of Hope " (a work presumed
to be the offspring of Turner's muse, and quotations
from which were appended to every picture he
exhibited), puzzled the Duke, as they did everybody
else. An Academician, after trying in vain to com-
prehend one of them, declared it was all " fallacy
and no hope." It was my lot to hear another
comment, from no less a person than the Duke
himself. I was walking round the tables, reading
the names of the intended diners, when I suddenly
came upon the Duke of Wellington, who was stand-
ing in such a position between the table and the
pictures as to leave no space for me to pass behind
him, and I refrained from passing in front.

The picture he was studying was called " Rain,
Steam, and Speed," a rather eccentric representation
of a train in full speed on the Great Western Rail-
way. Unperceived, I watched the Duke's puzzled
expression as he read the quotation from the
Fallacies of Hope." He then looked steadily at
the picture, and with a muttered A\\\ poeliy
walked on.

Dickens, Thackeray, Macready, and Rogers were
guests upon the occasion of my first appearance at
the Academy banquet. I saw Rogers descend the
stairs leaning on Dickens's arm, a support much
needed for a man who was " so old," as Maclise said,
" that Death seemed to have forgotten him."

It was on that occasion also, I think, that

DICKENS AND THACKERAY.

121

Thackeray, on returning thanks for literature, spoke
of his own early desire to be a painter, and his dis-
appointment when, on taking some sketches to
Dickens in the hope of being employed to illustrate
one of his books, the great novelist declined his
contributions with thanks."

There were some pictures in the Exhibition illus-
trating Dombey and Son ;" I told Dickens of
them. " Yes," he said, I know there are ; just go
and see them, and tell me what they are like. I
don't like to be caught looking at them myself."

CHAPTER XL

THE OLD ENGLISH MERRY-MAKING."

Though my Moliere picture was not a sufficient
improvement upon my previous work to add any-
thing to my reputation, it took the fancy of an
eccentric gentleman who successfully tempted Mr.
Gibbons — its first purchaser — to part with it, by offer-
ing him just three times the sum he had paid me for
it. I must add that out of this tempting profit Mr.
Gibbons made me a present of fifty guineas.

The other and still more inferior picture met with
a somewhat similar success, without any participation
in the profit by me. In the hope that the future
would prove that I had only receded in order to
make a longer jump, I immediately embarked on a
large composition of an ''English Village Festival " —
eventually christened *'An Old English Merry-
making," now pretty well known through a very
beautiful engraving of it, executed by William Holl.
A large oak-tree occupies the centre of the picture ;
lovers and dancers amuse themselves in its
''chequered shade." An old man is dragged by his
children towards the dancers, in spite of his evident

SHAKESPEARE IN A NEW LIGHT.

protest that his dancing-days are over." Gipsy
fortune-tellers, and peasantry playing bowls or
drinking, complete the scene. I put no trust in
fancy for the smallest detail of the picture. The oak-
tree is a portrait of a patriarch of Windsor Forest,
whom I recognised the other day unchanged in the
slightest degree ; could the tree have seen me, I am
sure he would not have known me again. It may
be as justly said of old oaks, as Wilkie's monk said
of the pictorial treasures of his monastery, ''They
are the substance, and we are the shadows." The
cottages are studies from nature, and every figure
in the picture is more or less a portrait of the model
who sat for it. The old woman sitting at the tea-
table by the cottage-door w^as a Mrs. King, who
followed the respectable calling of a washerwoman.
She was ''no scholar," and hearing me repeat some
lines one day when she was sitting, she said :
"Them's beautiful words."

" I should rather think they are ; why, they are
Shakespeare's." Then, seeing that she did not seem
much wiser by the information, I said, "You know
who Shakespeare was, don't you ?"

"Yes, sir" — then, after a pause, "he was some-
thing in your line, wasn't he ?"

With the exception of the old gipsy who is telling
the fortune of a young person on the left of the com-
position, I had not much difficulty in finding appro-
priate models. I used my wife's sisters and some
friends rather remorselessly, but, I think, with good
effect.

124

THE ''OLD ENGLISH MERRY-MAKING.''

I found an old gipsy in the street, and stopped
her. She had something to sell — I forget what — and
I offered to be a purchaser, but she must deliver the
goods at my house. She came, accompanied by a
small gipsy granddaughter. The articles were chosen
and paid for.

" Now, good lady and gentleman, let the old gipsy
tell your fortunes."

After a while," said I, and I then proceeded to
disclose my purpose. The old woman thought I
must be joking. Who could want a likeness of her ?
If it had been ''a long time back" it would have
been different ; she wasn't bad looking then, and so
on. " Well," said I, come into my studio, and I will
explain matters to you." In one corner of the
painting-room stood a full suit of armour, helmet,
plume, and lance. The lay figure also was in full
evidence, unfortunately. " Here you are, look," said
I, showing her the picture, "this is a gipsy telling
the fortune of this young maiden ; and what

I want is " Hearing a rustling behind me, I

turned round, and saw the old woman in full retreat
towards the door, walking backwards as if in the
presence of royalty, her eyes fixed with a terrified
stare on the man in armour. " What's the matter ?"
said I. Don't be foolish ; //la^ is not a man, it's
only a suit of armour; there's nothing to be fright-
ened at."

At that moment she bumped against the door,
turned and opened it, and fled up the street, the
little girl (her granddaughter) after her as terrified

HELP FROM CRESWICK.

125

as herself. Fortunately her address had been secured,
and after many visits, munificent offers of reward,
and incredible difficulty, she was induced to sit, but
only on the understanding that the steel man and the
other horrid thing " were banished from the studio.

Having had very little practice in landscape-
painting, I found great difficulty in the background
of the picture. The large tree I managed pretty well,
having made a careful study for it ; but the bits of
distance and the grass and sky bothered me terribly.
Creswick, who had become my intimate friend — and
who was good-nature personified — offered to mend
the distance for me, and the result of his doing so
was very satisfactory.

When the picture was shown (according to a
custom common to the present time — witness " Show^
Sunday ") to many of my friends, and others whom I
scarcely knew, Mr. Creswick came amongst the rest,
and went close to the picture to see how^ his work
had prospered, when a man near him said, sotto voce,
pointing to Creswick's own touches : ''What a pity
it is, Mr. Creswick, that these figure-painters don't
study landscape more ! Look how bad that is !"

Though my own ignorance of architecture, of
animal life, and of landscape has on several occa-
sions forced me to seek the assistance of my friends,
I have always done so with great regret and a sense
of humiliation ; and I would strongly advise any
youngster who may read this, to provide himself in
early life with the knowledge which I neglected to
obtain. And I hope that supposititious personage will.

126 THE ''OLD ENGLISH MERRY-MAKING."

at the same time, bear in mind that he must be as
determined as I was to do nothing from fancy, but
"seek until he finds" the object, dead or living,
required for his work. I have never forgotten a
conversation between two students, who were draw-
ing behind me in the Antique School of the
Academy. Said one to the other :

" Who did you get to sit for Nell Gwynne in your
picture of Charles II. and that lady ?"

" Miss Truman," said his friend. You know
her ? Sits in the Life. A doosid good model."

" Yes, I know her," said the questioner. "Thought
you'd had her. More like her than Nell Gwynne,
ain't it ? And the king — who sat for him ?"

" Oh," was the reply, in a rather conceited tone,
" I did him from nothing."

And you've made him very like," said the candid
friend.

The "Old English Merry-making" was hung in
one of the angles of the middle room in Trafalgar
Square, and was very successful. Previous to its
going to the Exhibition, it was sold to a picture-
dealer for three hundred and fifty pounds; since then
it has changed hands many times, and is now an
heirloom in a large collection in the north. If I
were to repeat some of the flattering things that
were said of my work, I should lay myself open to
the charge of a performance on my own trumpet —
a proceeding very foreign to my disposition — and if
I mention one instance of generous praise, it is more
for the purpose of opposing a common error into

TURNER'S GENEROUS PRAISE.

127

which those who knew Httle or nothing of the great
Turner were in the habit of falHng. I have heard
him described as surly, miserly, and ill-natured ; as a
man who never said an encouraging word to young
men, and who was always a severe critic. I know
nothing of the truth or falsehood of the miserly
charge ; but I do know that Turner's treatment of
young men, and his kindness in expressing his
opinion of all contemporary work, were in exact
opposition to the general notion of his disposition.
When the "Merry-making" was being exhibited, I
was one of a large party at dinner at Vice-Chancellor
Sir James Wigram's. All present were older and
superior to myself, and I was startled out of my
usual silence by Lee, R.A., who called to me from
the other end of the table, asking if I knew what
Turner had said of my picture.

No, sir," said I, feeling myself turn red and pale
alternately.

He says it is beautifully drawn, well composed,
and well coloured."

It is perfectly well known that the severest criticism
Turner was ever heard to make, was upon a land-
scape of a brother Academician, whose works some-
times showed signs of weakness. Turner joined a
group who w^ere discussing a certain picture's short-
comings, and after hearing much unpleasant remark
from which he dissented, he was forced to confess
that a very bad passage in the picture, to which the
malcontents drew his attention, was a poor bitT

If I write anything in these pages that I cannot

128

THE ''OLD ENGLISH MERRY-MAKINGS

vouch for, I always warn my readers ; and I am not
certain whether Turner said to the gentleman who
is usually called the great art critic, My dear sir, if
you only knew how difficult it is to paint even a
decent picture, you would not say the severe things
you do of those who fail^ But this was attributed
to him.

Another story of the great art critic is to the
following effect : In the exercise of his high calling,
friendship for a painter was not permitted to bias
the critic's judgment of his pictures ; and though
David Roberts, R.A., was the intimate personal
friend of the critic, his works found so little favour
with the brilliant writer, that in one of the annual
notices of the Exhibition they received a very savage
castigation. Feeling, perhaps, that Roberts might
find it difficult to reconcile an attempt to do him a
serious injury w^ith the usual interpretation of the
term friendship, the critic wrote a private note to
the artist, explaining his action on the hypothesis of
a self-imposed duty to the public, and concluded his
note by the expression of a hope theit severe criticism
would not interfere with the sincere feeling of friend-
ship which the writer hoped would always exist,
etc., etc. To this Roberts replied that the first time
he met the critic he would give him a sound thrash-
ing ; and he ventured to "hope that a broken head
would not interfere with the sincere feeling of
friendship which he hoped would always exist,"
etc., etc.

When Turner overpraised my picture, I had never

SUBLIME LUNCHEONS.

spoken to him, and had seen him only on the var-
nishing-days at the Academy. At that time they
extended generally to nearly a week, luncheon
being served daily in the Council-room. Upon
my first attending those luncheons, they were
but slightly inferior in interest to the banquet to
me, for I saw gathered round the table the greatest
artists of the country, venerable figures most of
them — in my eyes an assembly of gods. To listen
to the talk of such men, to smile at their jokes,
though never to presume to join in their conversa-
tion, w^as happiness enough for me. I can't say I
find Associates so modest in these days ; no doubt
they have less reason for diffidence than I. As each,
to me strange face, joined the table, Creswick, or
Edwin Landseer — who had introduced himself to
me — told me the name of its owner, and in this way
I made my first acquaintance with the outward and
visible forms of the Academicians.

On one occasion the luncheon was half over, when
a new-comer arrived in a condition of considerable
excitement.

Why, Reinagle," said Turner, as the late arrival
prepared to take a seat by the great landscape-painter,
"where have you been? You were not in the rooms
this morning."

''Been, sir?" said Reinagle (who was what is
vulgarly called "half-cracked"); 'T have been in the
City. I have invented a railway to go up and down
Cheapside. Omnibuses will be done away with. I
shall make millions, and" — looking round the table —

VOL. I. 9

I30

THE ''OLD ENGLISH MERRY-MAKLNG:'

I will give you all commissions." Then looking
aside at Turner, who sat next to him, ''And I will
give you a commission if you will tell me which way
to hang the picture up when I get it."

"You may hang it just eis you please," said
Turner, " if you only pay for it."

Turner's extraordinary knowledge made him an
admirable critic, though, as I said before, never a
severe or unkind one ; and he was always ready to
share his knowledge with those who could profit by
it. After he had said to me more than once, "Now,
young gentleman, a glass of brown sherry " — people
took wine with one another in those days — I ventured
upon enough familiarity to ask him to look at my
pictures, and many a time I have benefited by his
wonderful knowledge of light and shade; and though
I confess the drawing of the figures in his pictures is
often funny enough, he was quick to see and point
out errors in the action and drawing of mine, and
more than once he has taken his brush and corrected
a piece of foreshortening that had mastered me.

Turner was, w^ithout doubt, the greatest landscape-
painter that ever lived ; but so mysterious were some
of his last productions, so utterly unlike nature to
my eyes, that I should almost be inclined to agree
with Reinagle, that they would look as well the wrong
way up as the right w^ay. Strange as it may sound, it
is absolutely true that I have heard Turner ridicule
some of his own later works quite as skilfully as the
newspapers did. For example, at a dinner w^hen I
was present, a salad was offered to Turner, who called

FINISHING TOUCHES.

the attention of his neighbour at the table (Jones
Lloyd, afterwards Lord Overstone) to it in the
following words : Nice cool green that lettuce,
isn't it? and the beetroot pretty red — not quite
strong enough ; and the mixture, delicate tint of
yellow that. Add some mustard, and then you have
one of my pictures." It was, and always will be, a
puzzle to me how a man w^hose earlier works are
the wonder and admiration of all who see them,
could have reconciled himself to the production of
beautiful phantasmagoria, representing nothing in
the ''heavens above, or on the earth beneath." And
what is still more wonderful is, that people can be
found to admire and buy them at such enormous
prices.

An erroneous notion prevailed that Turner occa-
sionally had painted the zvJiole of some of his pictures
during varnishing-days. To those who know any-
thing of the time required to produce a picture, the
idea is absurd ; but I have seen great effects in the
way of change and completion produced by Turner
in a very short time, and that, sometimes, to the
injury of neighbouring works, as the following anec-
dote will prove : In one of the angles of the middle
room there hung, in one of the Exhibitions, a long,
narrow, delicately-coloured picture by David Roberts
— ''A View of Edinburgh;" and next to it, in im-
mediate juxtaposition, was a picture which Turner
called '' Masaniello and the Fisherman's Ring,"
with the inevitable quotation from the Fallacies of
Hope." When first placed on the wall, Masaniello's

9—2

132 THE ''OLD ENGLISH MERRY-MAKING:'

queer figure was relieved by a pale gray sky, the
whole effect being almost as gray and quiet as
Roberts's picture. Turner was a very short man,
with a large head, and a face usually much muffled
"to protect it from the draughts" for which the
rooms were celebrated. Both he and Roberts stood
upon boxes, and worked silently at their respective
pictures. I found myself close to them, painting
some figures into a landscape by Creswick. I
w^atched my neighbours from time to time, and if I
could discover no great change in the aspect of
" Edinburgh," there was no doubt whatever that
" Masaniello " was rapidly undergoing a treatment
which was very damaging to its neighbour without a
compensating improvement to itself The gray sky
had become an intense blue, and was every instant
becoming so blue that even Italy could scarcely be
credited with it. Roberts moved uneasily on his
box-stool. Then, with a sidelong look at Turner's
picture, he said in the broadest Scotch :
You are making that varra blue."

Turner said nothing ; but added more and more
ultramarine. This was too much.

I'll just tell ye what it is. Turner, you're just
playing the deevil with my picture, with that sky —
ye never saw such a sky as that !"

Turner moved his muffler on one side, looked
down at Roberts, and said :

You attend to your business, and leave me to
attend to mine."

And to this hour Masaniello " remains — now in

VIRTUOUS INDIGNATION.

133

the cellars of the National Gallery — with the bluest
sky ever seen in a picture, and never seen out of
one.

I may add another anecdote of Turner, for the
truth of which I can vouch. In Rathbone Place
there used to be a print-shop, kept by a man whose
name I forget ; but he was well known as a very
superior person to the ordinary printseller of that
period, having a thorough knowledge of his business
and a great love of Art in all its forms. He was
of course, therefore, a great admirer of Turner,
whose Liber Studiorum " he appreciated ; and
whenever one of that wonderful set of engravings
could be found, the Rathbone Place connoisseur
bought it if possible. In some w^ay or other a fine
plate from the " Liber " series came into his posses-
sion, much damaged by stains and rough usage.
Feeling that it could scarcely be further injured, he
placed it in his shop- window. In passing one day
Turner saw the damaged print, bounced into the
shop, and fell foul of the printseller.

It's a confounded shame to treat an engraving
like that !" pointing to the window. What can you
be thinking about to go and destroy a good thing —
for it is a good thing, mind you !"

destroy it!" said the shopman in a rage.
''What do you mean by saying I destroyed it? and
who the devil are you, I should like to know ? I
didn't ask you to buy it, did I ? You don't look as
if you could understand a good print when you see
one. / destroy it ! Bless my soul, I bought it

134 THE ''OLD ENGLISH MERRY-MAKING:

just as it is, and I would rather keep it till Dooms-
day than sell it to you ; and why you should put
yourself out about it, I can't think."

"Why, I did it," said Turner.

" Did w^hat ! — did you spoil it? If you did, you
deserve "

" No, no, man ! my name's Turner, and I did the
drawing, and engraved the plate from it."

" Bless my soul !" exclaimed the printseller. "Is
it possible that you are the great Turner ? Well,
sir, I have long desired to see you ; and now that
I have seen you, I hope I shall never see you
again, for a more disagreeable person I have seldom
met."

Until Mr. Ruskin opened the eyes of the public
to Turners merits, his pictures rarely sold, and
when they did sell they only fetched small prices.
Mr. Munro, of Novar, at whose house in Hamilton
Place I once met Turner at dinner, possessed
several of his pictures, for each of which he had
paid, as he told me himself, two hundred pounds ;
amongst them was that magnificent picture of the
" Grand Canal ctt Venice," which was purchased by
Lord Dudley, after Mr. Munro's death, for some-
thing under eight thousand guineas. Others of his
works, from the Bicknell and Munro collections,
fetched correspondingly large sums.

Mr. Munro, a Scottish laird, was also an artist of
some ability, and the possessor of many fine old
masters, as well as of modern works. 7^urner lived
in Queen Anne Street, and at the back of his house

SECOND THOUGHTS.

135

he had built a large gallery, and had completely
filled it with unsold works, numbers of which now
form part of the collection in the National Gallery.

I can never forget the woe-begone appearance of
the long gallery to which Turner had consigned his
pictures. The walls were almost paperless, the
roof far from weather-proof, and the whole place
desolate in the extreme.

Though the very look of the place was enough
to give a man a cold," said Munro to me when I
met him one Sunday afternoon, " I found Turner
an hour ago crouching over a morsel of fire in the
gallery, with a dreadful cold upon him, muffled up
and miserable."

Yes, here I am," said Turner, " with all these
unsaleable things about me. I wish to Heaven I
could get rid of them ; I would sell them cheap to
anybody who would take them where I couldn't see
them any more."

''Well," said Munro, what will you take for the
lot ?"

" Oh, I don't know ; you may make me an offer
if you like."

Munro told me he took but a few minutes to look
at the pictures and make a mental calculation, and
then he offered to write a cheque for twenty-five
thousand pounds for the whole of them. Turner's
bright-blue eyes glittered for a moment. He turned
to the fire and seemed absorbed in thought, and
then addressing Munro, he said :

" Go and take a walk, and come back in an hour,

136 THE ''OLD ENGLISH MERRY-MAKING:

and I will give you an answer. Thank you for the
offer."

" It is now about time to go back to Queen Anne
Street," said Munro ; so I wish you good-day."

A short time after this conversation I again met
Mr. Munro.

" Well," said I, "am I to congratulate you on the
purchase of the Turners ?"

" No," replied Munro. " When I got back to the
old man, his first words were :

" ' Hullo ! what, you here again ? I am very ill ;
my cold is very bad.' "

"Well," said Munro, "have you decided; will
you accept my offer

" No, I won't — I can't. I believe I'm going to die,
and I intend to be buried in those two " (pointing
to the "Carthage" and "Sun rising through Mist,"
which now hang near the Claudes in the National
Gallery, being placed in their proximity by Turner's
especial request). " So I can't ; besides, I can't be
bothered- — good evening."

It is recorded that Turner expressed to Chantrey
his determination to be buried in these two famous
pictures. Chantrey's comment on this morbid inten-
tion was : " Indeed. Well, if that bright idea is
carried out we will dig you up again, and unroll you
as they do the mummies."

For two or three years after I was elected Asso-
ciate, a dinner took place when the Exhibition
closed, at which any exhibitor for the year could be
present, provided he was introduced by a member

THE ARTIST AS AN ORATOR.

137

and was willing to pay a guinea for the privilege.
The modern soiree is now given in lieu of those
dinners ; but those dinners were very pleasant
meetings. The R.A.'s seemed to lay aside a little
of their dignity, and most of them were very
courteous — if sometimes slightly patronizing — to the
outsiders. Those who could sing or tell a good
story — and some of them could do both — willingly
added to the general hilarity. Edwin Landseer
sang delightfully, and was one of the best story-
tellers I ever knew. We had speeches, too, and on
one never-to-be-forgotten occasion, a speech from
Turner. I fear a written description will give but a
faint notion of that memorable oration, the only one
he was ever known to deliver. The stammering, the
long pauses, the bewildering mystery of it, required
to be witnessed for any adequate idea to be formed.
In writing I fear it is impossible to convey it. It
was not unlike the most incomprehensible of his
later pictures, mixed up with the Fallacies of
Hope." He looked earnestly at the guests before
he began, and then spoke as follows : " Gentlemen,

I see some " (pause, and another look round)

new faces at this — table Well — do you — do

any of you — I mean — Roman History " (a

pause). There is no doubt, at least I hope not,
that you are acquainted — no, unacquainted — that is
to say — of course, why not ? — you must know some-
thing of the — old — ancient — Romans." (Loud ap-
plause.) ''Well, sirs, those old people — the Romans
I allude to — were a warlike set of people — yes, ^/ley

138

THE ''OLD ENGLISH MERRY-MAKING:

2vere — because they came over here, you know, and
had to do a good deal of fighting before they
arrived, and after too. Ah ! they did ; and they
always fought in a phalanx — know what that is ?"

Hear, hear," said some one.) " Do you know, sir ?
Well, if you don't, I will tell you. They stood
shoulder to shoulder, and won everything." (Great
cheering.) Now, then, I have done w^ith the
Romans, and I come to the old man and the bundle of
sticks — yEsop, ain't it? — fables, you know — all right —
yes, to be sure. Well, when the old man was dying
he called his sons — I forget how many there were of
'em — a good lot, seven or eight perhaps — and he
sent one of them out for a bundle of sticks. ' Now,'
says the old man, ' tie up those sticks, tight,' and it
was done so. Then he says, says he, ' Look here,
young fellows, you stick to one another like those
sticks; work all together,' he says, ' then you are for-
midable. But if you separate, and one go one way,
and one another, you may just get broke one after

another. Now mind what I say,' he says " (a

very long pause, filled by intermittent cheering).
"Now," resumed the speaker, "you are wondering
what I am driving at " (indeed we were). " I will
tell you. Some of you young fellows will one day
take our places, and become members of this
Academy. Well, you are a lot of sticks" (loud
laughter). "What on earth are you all laughing
at } Don't like to be called sticks ? — wait a bit.
Well, then, what do you say to being called Ancient
Romans ? What I want you to understand is just

LAST WORDS,

139

this — never mind what anybody calls you. When
you become members of this institution you must
fight in a phalanx — no splits — no quarrelling — one
mind — one object — the good of the Arts and the
Royal Academy."

It will be seen that Turner had an idea which he
desired to impress upon us, and it was not till he got
to the end of his speech that we could imagine, as
he said himself, what he was "driving at." Turner
died in 1851. He had been ailing for some time,
and had gone to Ramsgate in the hope of improving
his health ; a slight change for the better took place,
owing, as Turner thought, to the skill of a local
doctor, and the sick man went back to his lodgings
in Chelsea, where his illness returned upon him with
great virulence. The Ramsgate practitioner was
sent for, and without a moment's delay he went to
the bedside of the dying painter, whose condition
he saw instantly was hopeless.

"Well, doctor," said Turner, "you can cure me if
anybody can. What's the verdict? Tell me the
truth."

"I am afraid I must beg you to lose no time in
any worldly arrangements you desire to make."

"Wait a bit," said Turner; "you have had no-
thing to eat and drink yet, have you ?"

" No ; but that's of no consequence."

"Yes, it is. Go downstairs and you will find
some refreshment ; and there is some fine brown
sherry — don't spare it — and then come up and see
me again."

I40 THE ''OLD ENGLISH MERRY-MAKING."

The doctor refreshed himself and then returned to
his patient.

Now then," said Turner, "what is it ? Do you
still think so badly of my case ? Wasn't that good
sherry ?"

I grieve to say I cannot alter my opinion."

Turner put his hand out of bed, pressed that of
the doctor, turned his face to the wall, and never
spoke again. Later in the day he died, his death
making a vacancy in the Academy ranks, which I
was elected to fill — how unworthily, in comparison
with my predecessor, no one knows better than I.

The art patron is often a strange creature ; he
places, very justly, but little reliance on his own
judgment. " He knows what he likes," but whether
the object of his liking is worthy of that distinction
or not, is a matter about which he is alarmingly un-
certain. It too often happens that until a picture
has received the ''hall-mark" of the picture-dealer
the collector is not satisfied ; but after that, he is
often ready to pay for his ignorant incredulity in the
form of a great advance on the price for which he
might have acquired the work. To illustrate this
from my own experience : a distinguished artist
friend of mine painted a large picture, for which he
asked fifteen hundred pounds. When the work was
nearly finished, one of the Manchester merchant
princes called to see it, admired, and inquired the
price.

''Too much," said the collector; "give you
twelve."

COLLECTORS AND DEALERS.

141

No you won't," said the artist.
" Don't put yourself out."

" I am not put out ; but I should just like to ask
you, if, when a shopkeeper asks you a price for an
article, you make a point of offering him a good deal
less than he asks ?"

"Yes, very often," was the reply. ''Won't you
accept my offer ?"

" Certainly not."

A few days later the collector called again, and
repeated his offer, which was again declined. On
one of the ''show" days the picture was instantly
purchased by a great firm of picture-dealers for
fifteen hundred pounds, and sold before it was seen
by the public for three thousand pounds to the man
who had refused to pay the artist his own more
modest price.

Then there is the collector who is always ready to
buy something out of his reach.

" My dear sir, how I regret my folly in not
possessing myself of your beautiful picture of last
year ! Could you not make me a copy of it ?"

" I fear not, for the owner of the picture objects
to copies."

This conversation would take place in the presence
of the picture of the year, which might be at that
moment unsold, to be repeated in almost similar
words the year after.

Is it to be wondered at, then, that artists prefer
the dealer, who knows his own mind, to the patron
who does not ? Turner, on the other hand, detested

*I43 THE ''OLD ENGLISH MERRY-MA KLYG."

dealers ; he would have none of them. And a story
is told of one well-known picture merchant, who
was determined — though he was aware of Turner's
dislike to the fraternity — to see the famous gallery
in Queen Anne Street. Forgetting — or perhaps not
knowing — that his card must be given to the servant
before admission could be obtained, or believing,
possibly, that the maid merely took it as a matter
of form, he was proceeding leisurely upstairs into
the gallery, when he found himself pulled back-
wards by his coat-tails, and on looking round saw
the irate face of the great artist ; who, without a
word, pointed to the front-door, through which the
dealer made an ignominious retreat.

CHAPTER XII.

DINNER-PARTV AT LORD NORTHWICk's.

Among the patrons and lovers of art, the late
Lord Northwick was a conspicuous figure ; his
gallery at Cheltenham was filled with very question-
able old masters, and some few good modern ones.
When I saw his collection in 1846, I cannot recall a
single fine ancient picture ; and the two modern ones
I remember best were Maclise's '^Strongbow" (now
in the Dublin National Gallery) and my old friend
Ward's picture of the Fall of Clarendon" — a work
I had the great satisfaction of recommending suc-
cessfully to Lord Northwick. This nobleman was
one of those who never give commissions without
knowing for what sum the order may make them
responsible ; and as it is almost impossible for a
painter to say at what value he can safely estimate
his work until it is completed, a commission from
Lord Northwick was not greatly cared for in times
when purchasers were plentiful ; and I attribute a
dislike to myself, which I very soon discovered in
the old gentleman, to my refusal to name a sum,
from a small sketch that I showed him, for a large

144 DINNER-PARTY AT LORD NORTHWICK'S.

picture which was to be painted from it. His dis-
Hke, however, did not prevent his inviting me to
stay a few days at Thirlstane House, Cheltenham,
accompanied by my friends Frost (an admirable
painter of poetic subjects) and E. M. Ward, both
afterwards Royal Academicians. Ward w^as a well-
read man, an admirable talker, and, unfortunately, a
wonderful mimic ; for in the old lord was found food
for mimicry almost impossible to resist, and it is to be
feared that some of our attempts — for I plead guilty
to attempts, inferior though they were when com-
pared with such a master in the art as Ward — must
have been overheard by the servants, who were all
greatly attached to their master ; if so, the coolness
shown in the end to all of us was not to be wondered
at, and I must say it w^as well deserved.

When a young man, Lord North wick had been
placed at the Court of Ferdinand of Naples, in the
position of attache in the suite of the English Am-
bassador during the great French war ; when he
became also the intimate friend of the King and
Queen of Naples, and of Sir William and Lady
Hamilton.

I well remember, after a dinner-party at Thirl-
stane House, Ward's loudly-expressed regret that a
shorthand writer had not been there, so that the
many anecdotes we were told might have been pre-
served. Alas for the frailness of memory ! How
much do I deplore now that I can remember so little
of the scenes described to us, in which Lord Nelson,
for one, figured so often ! Lord Northwick did not

EXECUTION OF CARACCIOLO.

145

believe that the friendship for Lady Hamilton which
Nelson professed, extended beyond the bounds of
ordinary friendship, and nothing made him so angry
as any suggestion to the contrary.

Poor dear Lady Hamilton !" he would say in his
shrill voice. A truer wife, a warmer friend, or a
better woman never breathed. Why, if she had not
prevailed upon the King of Naples to victual the
English Fleet — entirely by her influence — the Battle
of the Nile could not have been fought ; and
it is to the eternal disgrace of this country that
the poor dear creature w^as allowed to die in desti-
tution."

As a sample of what has been lost, I will repeat,
as well as I can recall it, Lord Northwick's account
of the execution of Caracciolo.

" Though an admiral in the service of King
Ferdinand," said the old lord, " he deserted his
colours and assisted the French, and he was justly
condemned to death. Of course Nelson could have
saved him " (this in reply to a guest at the table),
"but why should he? I see good reason why he
shouldn't. On the day fixed for the execution,
Caracciolo asked to be shot. He was refused, and
hanged at the yard-arm of a ship that he had com-
manded. I was dining on board the Againenmon with
Nelson; the other guests were Ferdinand, the Queen,
and the Hamiltons. I knew the execution was im-
minent, but not the precise time fixed for it. We were
at dessert when a gun was fired. At that instant
Lady Hamilton filled her glass, and, standing up,

VOL. I. lO

146 DINNER-PARTY AT LORD NORTHWICK'S.

said in solemn tones, ' So perish all the enemies of
Naples !' Nelson motioned me to the cabin-window.
I looked out and saw the body of the traitor Carac-
ciolo swinging from the yard-arm some hundreds of

yards away. ' I am d d glad that fellow has got

his deserts !' said Nelson." Lord Northwick saw by
the shocked countenances of some of his guests that
Nelson's remark had surprised and disgusted them.
" Oh, you are shocked at Nelson's swearing. It
was nothing. He always swore at everything and
anything — never opened his mouth without an
oath coming out of it. If it was a fine day, it was

'a fine day.' Was he quite well ? 'Yes, he

was ' (strong adjective) ' well,' and so on. And if

his oaths, when he spoke of the French, could have
taken effect, the whole nation would have gone to
the devil." The old lord continued: "The King
and Queen remained that night on board the
Agameninon, and next morning, when Ferdinand was
shaving in his cabin, we were startled by hearing him
call out in a loud and agitated voice, ' Vieni qui, vieni
qui !' The King was standing by the cabin-window,
ghastly pale, and unable to speak. He pointed to
something in the sea. I looked out, and under the
window lay the body of Caracciolo, his face upturned,
the eyes wide open, looking at me. I shall never
forget that sight.

Poor dear Lady Hamilton ! the last time I saw
her was at Frascati's gambling-rooms in Paris. She
was playing furiously. Nelson sat next to her. He
was fast asleep, with his head on her shoulder."

LADY HAMILTON.

147

Did you ever see Bonaparte, my lord ?" said
Ward.

" Only once. I was at a reception at the Tuileries
when he was First Consul. He spoke to me, but
I don't remember what he said — a commonplace
remark, no doubt."

It seemed strange to us that "poor dear Lady
Hamilton " should have been so completely forgotten
by the devoted friends she possessed, according to
Lord Northwick, none of whom, so far as we could
learn, took any notice of her after Nelson's
death. Certainly Lord Northwick never did, as the
last time he saw her Nelson was alive, though
asleep.

Lord Northwick showed us every engraving that
had been executed from great numbers of pictures
painted from Lady Hamilton ; many lovely heads by
Romney amongst them ; and many a sigh heaved the
old gentleman as he produced them.

There is no truth, I think, in the story often re-
peated to me, that Lady Hamilton ever sat in the
Life School of the Royal Academy. Wilkie met
her in society once or twice, when she posed with
drapery in imitation of antique statuary. He ex-
pressed his disappointment with her appearance,
which he described as fat and vulgar, with manners
to match.

At the time of our visit to Cheltenham, the Corn-
Law question was raging with great fury, and Lord
Northwick made such long and tiresome speeches to
us on the subject that we often wished him in the

10 — 2

148 DINNER-PARTY AT LORD NORTHIVICK'S.

House of Lords, where his eloquence, strange to
say, was never heard. He almost wept over the
imminent ruin of the farmers, and the possible reduc-
tion of all rents ; and his words, Protection to
native industry," repeated again and again in a
singing tone, enabled Ward to reproduce the very
voice of the speaker, as he proved on many a winter's
evening when, in reply to ''Come, Ward, let us have
a protection speech from Lord Northwick," he would
improvise, how admirably ! giving us the sentiments
as well as the manner of the noble protectionist.
After we had been some days at Cheltenham, we
were joined by a young artist named Huskisson, who
had painted some original pictures of considerable
merit, and also some copies from old masters and
others, of extraordinary exactness. Huskisson was
a very common young man, entirely uneducated. I
doubt if he could read and write ; the very tone of his
voice was dreadful. He never could have heard of
English grammar; and though it might be supposed
that he would be ill at ease at a dinner-party at
Thirlstane House — where nearly every guest, male or
female, had handles to their names — he w^as always
perfectly self-possessed, and, judging from occasional
bursts of laughter which followed some of his remarks,
he greatly entertained his high-born neighbours at
the table.

In the midst of a silence that will sometimes pre-
vail at a dinner-party, Lord Northwick, who sat at
some distance from this rough specimen of our pro-
fession, called to him, and said :

AN UNLUCKY PUN.

149

Mr. Huskisson, was it not a picture-dealer who
bought your last ' Fairy ' picture ?"

" No, my lord ! no, my lord !" replied Huskisson.
It were a gent."

I looked at the faces of some of the guests, but
not even a smile was visible; instead, there appeared
to me expressions of a kind of tender interest in the
strange young man. Within a year of our visit,
Huskisson died, much to my regret, for I feel sure,
in his case, death cut short a brilliant career. A
picture by him, full of poetic fancy, was engraved
for the A 7^^ Journal. Scarcely anyone who may
read these lines will remember the young man.
I fear his performances were too few to " keep his
memory green."

We left Cheltenham in a carriage-and-four for
another house belonging to Lord Northwick, called,
I think, Northwick. On the way we called on Lord
Ellenborough, who had just returned from govern-
ing India : he was from home. As we drove through
the grounds, we passed great quantities of laurels,
and Ward inquired if those were the laurels Lord
Ellenborough had gained in India. If looks could
kill. Ward would have died in that carriage, for the
old lord not only bestowed a murderous one upon
the punster, but he added :

Mr. Ward, you have painted pictures of Dr.
Johnson, and I presume you are acquainted with
the sentiments of that great man in respect of
puns."

Said Ward :

ISO DINNER-PARTY AT LORD NORTHIVICK'S.

Oh yes ! I know, my lord ; but that was because
he couldn't make a pun himself."

I differ from you, sir ; Dr. Johnson could say
anything or do anything. The last thing he would
have uttered would have been a poor witticism at
the expense of a friend of his host."

Well, but my lord, I beg pardon ; I don't think
what I said could be called a pun."

Sufficiently like one, sir, to be very objection-
able."

At Northwick there was a very old butler, older
in appearance than his master ; he had been in the
family all his life — indeed I was told that he had
accompanied Lord Northwick in his first pony-rides,
events which must have happened at least seventy
or eighty years before our visit. The meeting of
master and servant was interesting, even touching.

Don't let that old chap catch you taking off my
lord," said I to Ward. I don't think he would
approve."

Though the old butler was very feeble, he insisted
on placing the dishes on the table at dinner. All
went well so long as the burden was light, but a
haunch of venison proved beyond the old man's
strength ; the dish — a heavy silver one — slipped from
his fingers, and the venison fell upon the floor.

He is too old," Lord Northwick whispered to
me. " I can't bear to tell him so, dear old man.
He is for ever dropping something or other. It is a
pity, though ; I should have liked you Londoners to
have tasted that venison."

A DREADFUL DISH.

Although the venison was denied to us, we had a
dish cooked from the furry covering of the deer's
horns, made into a rich mess, the Hke of which I had
never seen before, nor have I since, and devoutly do
I hope I never shall see it again ; taste it, I never
would. One more feeble pun, and I take leave of
Lord Northwick. Frost eat some of the strange
compound just described, and when his trouble
was over, he whispered to me, This is not cheap
and nasty, but dee7^ and nasty."

CHAPTER XIII.

ON SUBJECTS.

My own reading lay chiefly in books suggestive of
subjects for pictures — Sterne, Goldsmith, Moliere,
Cervantes, and the " Spectator " taking the lead of all
others. Shakespeare inspired me with terror as well
as admiration.

It was vain for me to hope to rival Leslie, and
therefore dangerous to come into competition with
the painter of the Dinner at Page's House," the
Autolycus," and " Perdita," now in the Sheep-
vshanks Gallery at South Kensington. I have never
meddled with Shakespeare without regretting my
temerity, for though I have painted several pictures
from different plays, I cannot recall one that w411 add
to my reputation. From the " Spectator," however,
I did better, " Sir Roger de Coverley and the Sara-
cen's Head," an admirable subject, proving one of
the best of my pictures drawn from books. The
incident may be briefly described. An old servant of
Sir Roger's becomes the landlord of an inn, and to
do honour to his master, he has the Knight's head
painted and put up for a sign.

THE SARACEN'S HEAD.

153

Sir Roger, hearing of this compHment, sends for
the man, and tells him the honour is more than he
deserves, or, indeed, than anyone deserves, under
the rank of a duke, and the sign must be altered ;
and he, Sir Roger, will be at the " charge of it."
Accordingly an artist is procured, who, by the addi-
tion of a terrible frown and general wildness of
aspect, transforms the Knight's likeness into a
Saracen's head.

When the alteration is completed. Sir Roger, ac-
companied by his friend the "Spectator" (Addison),
pays a visit to the inn, and the sign is produced for
the inspection of the visitors. Then, says the " Spec-
tator," I could not forbear discovering greater
Expressions of Mirth than ordinary upon the Appear-
ance of this monstrous Face, under which, notwith-
standing it was made to frown and stare in a most
extraordinary manner, I could still discover a distant
Resemblance of my old Friend.

" Sir Roger, upon seeing me laugh, desired me to
tell him truly if I thought it possible for People to
know him in that Disguise. I at first kept my usual
Silence ; but upon the Knight's conjuring me to tell
him whether it was not still more like himself than a
Saracen, I composed my Countenance in the best
manner I could, and replied, ' That miicli might be
said on both sides' "

I found many would-be purchasers of this picture
— it eventually became the property of a Mr.
Andrews, of York, who had made a fortune in the
railway mania so prevalent in 1847.

154

ON SUBJECTS.

With the best intention possible, Mr. Andrews,
who was a great friend of Hudson, the Railway
King, induced me to take shares in a certain line.
The property of the Company was destroyed for
a time by the panic that affected all railway in-
terests ; and I had the misfortune of seeing the
shares of twenty-five pounds each, upon every one of
which eight pounds ten had been paid, quoted in
the Times at half-a-crown apiece. Mr. Andrews
formed a small collection of pictures mainly under
my advice ; he was ruined, and his pictures were sold
at Christie's, when a good profit w^as made upon
them, but far from sufficient to satisfy his creditors ;
and this truly honourable and most amiable man
died broken-hearted.

The Spectator " inspired me with a subject for a
large picture of a much more important character
than the " Saracen's Head." Readers of Addison
will remember the paper in which Sir Roger has
to deal with a charge of witchcraft against a
certain Moll White, who is accused of causing dire
mischief to all and sundry of Sir Roger's tenants,
and of ''making maids spit pins." And she was
brought before the Knight to answer for her crimes.

My intention was — as my first sketch proved —
to represent Sir Roger himself, Moll White, and a
sick virgin, on the precise lines of the " Spectator's "
paper ; but further reflection led me to amplify the
theme, and I finally determined to take the incident
in the ''Spectator" as a peg upon which I might hang
a story of deeper interest. So, in an old English

WITCHCRAFT.

155

mansion with oriel window and tapestried walls, I
placed a lovelorn damsel, bewitched, indeed, by a
handsome young forester in Lincoln green, instead
of by a frightened old woman who is vehemently
accused by the mother of the girl of having caused
the change in her daughter s health and spirits, so
alarming to her friends, notably to her old grand-
father, to whom she clings for protection when she
finds herself in the presence of the grave magistrate
— a type of the Elizabethan nobleman — who listens
to the outpouring of the mother in dignified silence.

A clerk writes down the evidence ; the magis-
trate's daughter leans on her father's chair, interested
in the scene ; whilst her little child steals a fearful
glance at the dreadful witch. The real cause of the
mischief stands at a little distance twisting his hat,
uncertain whether to reveal himself, and still more
uncertain that his doing so would save the old
woman from the pond or the stake. A black cat,
the witch's familiar, is held above her head ; and
additional evidence is furnished by a woman at the
room door, who brings a sick child whose illness
can only be owing to the devilries of the old woman.

This picture and the Saracen's Head " w^ere my
contributions to the Exhibition of 1848. The Old
Woman accused of Witchcraft " was bought by Mr.
Miller, of Preston, for five hundred guineas.
Horrocks and Miller's " Long Cloth " is known, I
believe, throughout the world. An intimacy, such as
so frequendy exists between artist and patron, arose
between Mr. Miller and me. I spent many happy

156

ON SUBJECTS.

hours with him at Preston. He was one of the
truest gentlemen, and the warmest lover of art for
art's sake, that I have ever known. He died long
ago, while comparatively a young man, leaving his
collection intact in the possession of his widow.

Though I w^as so fortunate as to be the first of
the band of rapidly-rising artist friends to receive
the honours of the Academy, E. M. Ward, Egg,
Stone, Phillip, and others were running "neck and
neck " with me.

Ward's admirable picture of the " South Sea
Bubble," now in the National Gallery, secured the
painter's election as an Associate the year following
my own.

Egg painted an excellent picture of " Queen Eliza-
beth surrounded by Ladies and Courtiers." Whether
apocryphal or not, the subject was one well suited to
pictorial art. It is said that the Queen had banished
looking-glasses for many years ; but one day, towards
the close of her life, her curiosity got the better of
her fears, and she sent one of her ladies for a mirror.
Judging from the expression of the withered old face,
as it was turned away from the sad sight reflected in
the glass, all illusion had vanished, and a terror-
stricken conviction that every trace of youth had
flown, was at last as palpable to the old Queen as it
had long been to everybody else. This picture
greatly added to Egg's reputation. It was pur-
chased by Mr. Miller, and hangs at this moment as
a companion to my "Witch" in the collection at
Preston.

EGG'S ''PETER THE GREATS

157

Egg continued to produce pictures of great excel-
lence, the best, perhaps, being " Peter the Great's
First Sight of Catherine " (afterwards Empress), a
subject which I found and presented to Egg — an act
of generosity, I confess, much repented of afterwards,
for it was one I should dearly like to have ventured
upon myself ; indeed, I had made many pen-and-ink
sketches of the composition, and what amazing
devil of generosity "— as Dickens said, when I told
him of my gift of the subject to Egg — prompted
such a disinterested act of good-nature I cannot
tell. Egg and I were fellow-students at Sass's
Academy, and fast friends through life — through
/lis life, I should say, for he died in his prime,
but not until he had attained the full honours
of the Royal Academy. I shall have something
to say later on of charming meetings at Ivy
Cottage (Egg's house), in Black Lion Lane (now
Queen's Road), Bayswater, where at delightful
dinners I met Dickens over and over again, im-
mortal John Leech, Mark Lemon, John Forster
(afterwards biographer of Dickens), O'Neil, Web-
ster, Phillip, Mulready, Stone, Mr. Justice Hawkins
— then so gentle and quiet, that I can scarcely credit
the fiery judge with being the same man — and many
others, most, indeed nearly all, of whom have since
''joined the majority."

John Phillip — afterwards called Phillip of Spain,
from the many wonderful subjects he drew from that
country — came to London a very raw Scotch lad, and
became a student of the Academy, where I first made

158

ON SUBJECTS.

his acquaintance, and where he very soon gave proof
of great natural genius. He was a protdgd of Lord
Panmure, and pupil of Mr. T. M. Joy, a portrait-
painter and intense admirer of Sir Thomas Law-
rence. Phillip caught the fever, painted with great
facility before he could draw, and produced portraits
so like the work of Lawrence that they might easily
have been mistaken for indifferent pictures by that
fashionable genius. I have an unfinished one of
myself that would prove the truth of this ; and in
the likeness done of Egg, Phillip managed to include
all Lawrence's faults and many of his merits. It
w^ould be impossible to conceive greater contrasts
than would be afforded by a comparison of Phillip's
earliest w^orks with his latest. He was, at one time,
tainted with Pre-Raphaelitism. His first pictures
displayed a grasp of character, but colour — one of
the charms of his later works — was conspicuous
by its absence. It was only after the second visit to
Spain that PhilUp's real power showed itself. Then
came, yeai^ after year, up to the clay of his death,
pictures of extraordinary beauty ; which, in spite of
the caprice of fashion, will be eventually considered
glories of the British school. Though the claims of
Phillip for Academic honours were long delayed, he
took the lead, in my opinion, of all the young men,
except Millais (not excepting myself, of course), who
were added to the Academic ranks in my time.

Frank Stone became an Associate somewhat late
in life, and died before the higher honour (recently
so worthily attained by his son Marcus) reached him.

"/ AM SIR oracle:'

159

It was impossible to know Stone intimately without
loving him ; for myself, I can say that I never knew
any man for whom I had so warm an affection. No
fair-weather friend was he, but true as steel w^hen
friendly countenance might be sorely needed. Still,
I confess there were drawbacks to the enjoyment of
Stone's society. It was enough for anyone to ad-
vance an opinion, for Stone to differ from it. The
first time I dined with him at Dickens's, having then
had little or no experience of his peculiarity in that
respect, I foolishly got into an argument with him —
something about Waterloo — and finding there was
no hope of agreement, and that we were boring
everybody present, I allowed him to settle the matter
in his own fashion ; but he was not satisfied.

"Well," said he, "are you convinced?"

" What about ?" said I.

"Why, that you have been making a series of
statements for w^hich you had no foundation in fact."
"Yes, if you like," I replied.

After dinner, Dickens took me on one side, and
inquired if I had known Stone long.
" No, a very short time."

" I thought so. Now let me give you a little
piece of advice : a better fellow than Stone never
lived, but he is always in the right about every
earthly thing, and if you talk till Doomsday you will
not convince him to the contrary, so I advise you
not to try any more ;" and I never did.

CHAPTER XIV.

PICTURE-SEEING IN BELGIUM AND HOLLAND.

Egg, Stone, and I went to Belgium and Holland
for a few days, for the sole purpose of picture-seeing,
and then the constant intercourse made Dickens's
advice a little difficult to follow ; but we got on very
well until the money question cropped up. I was
the only one of the party who spoke French. All
arrangements and all payments, therefore, were made
by me — a settlement being effected by my informing
each of my fellow-travellers of the extent of his in-
debtedness to me at the end of every three or four
days. Stone insisted on a detailed account of every
item. This I declined to give him, when he thus
addressed me :

" My dear Frith, if you think my desire for
details arises from any doubt of your honesty, you
ought to be ashamed of yourself; but I really
must insist on knowing exactly how the money has
gone."

My answer was :

" My dear Stone, I will not give you a detailed
account of the way in which I have spent your

A GRATEFUL ARTIST.

i6i

money ; but I will tell you what you are indebted
to me at the end of our time."

That will not do for me," was the reply.

Won't it said I, a happy thought having struck
me. Then just listen to this : I will tell you what you
owe me, and you may pay it or not, just as you like."
This settled the matter, and my little bill was met.

The following extracts from letters written at this
time to my mother may interest :

"Bruges, Sunday, July 7, 1850.
You may remember when Egg and I went up
the Rhine some years ago, we passed through
Bruges and Antwerp, and were then told there were
some fine old pictures in a convent by one of
the very early Flemish painters. This artist
flourished the sword as well as the pencil, and he
was seriously wounded at the battle of Nancy ; he
was taken to the hospital of the nunnery, and lay at
the point of death for many months. At last the
care and good treatment of the worthy nuns pre-
vailed, and his wounds healed. To show the
strength of his gratitude, he painted and presented
to them several of his largest and best works — all
Scriptural subjects, of course — and they have re-
mained in the possession of the sisterhood ever
since, much to their profit; for the Exhibition has
proved so attractive, and has existed for so long,
that the convent is the richest in Belgium.

We were now — 1850 — informed that there was
another collection of pictures well worth a visit, but
VOL. I. II

i62 PICTURE-SEEING IN BELGIUM AND HOLLAND.

it was only to be seen after service. So after dinner
we got a man to show us the way, and very soon we
pulled the convent bell ; but to no purpose. It
wanted still some twenty minutes to the proper
hour (so a woman screamed out for our information),
•and there was nothing for it but to wander about
and kill the time. When we rang again, the large
doors opened — no one could see by whom ; we
entered, and they closed behind us in the same
mysterious manner.

"Across a courtyard, and there was another bell to
ring ; this time the door-opener was visible enough
in the form of a young nun, very pretty, the
meekest, mildest-looking creature. She stood look-
ing down with her hands crossed while we walked
in. Without a word she motioned us to the room
where the pictures were, shut the door upon us, and
vanished ; and so nipped in the bud some most
elegant speeches that were brewing for her enter-
tainment. A single glance sufficed to show that we
had been deceived ; for the collection displayed in
that holy place every vice of which a picture could
be guilty. There were a good many, but they were
bad without exception. There was nothing to stop
for ; but how to get away from them ! the doors
were shut, and there was nothing for it but patience,
and the hope that the pretty nun would reappear.
At last Egg discovered one picture not quite so bad
as the rest, and he called Stone and me to look at
it. How^ long we had been studying it I can't tell,
but happening to look round, I was not a little

A PAIR OF CONTRASTS.

163

Startled at an apparition behind me, in the shape of
an old, ugly, grim nun, standing as silent as a statue.
How she came there puzzles me to this moment.
I was so taken aback that I forgot my French, and
spoke to her in English, though what I said I know
no more than she did. Her head shook slowly, im-
plying, I suppose, that the study of the English
language had been neglected in her education. She
then turned quietly round in a dreadfully ghost-
like manner, and stalked away. In less time than I
take to write about it, another apparition presented
itself ; but this time it was our pretty nun again,
who immediately informed us, with the smile of
an angel, that she spoke a little English, but very
' leetel.'

Stone (who, being by far the best-looking of the
trio, did all the gallantry during the journey) here
struck in with the elegant speech he had prepared
some time before ; but his ideas didn't flow in their
usual limpid course, which somewhat surprised me,
till I saw that the old nun had followed her pretty
sister very closely, and had fixed her leaden eyes
upon poor Stone, to the utter destruction of his fine
speech.

''The pretty nun and her body-guard accompanied
us into the chapel, which smelt overpoweringly of
incense. There were the cushions that seemed as if
they had just been knelt upon ; the wax candles, the
offerings, etc. The old nun instantly went down on
her knees, pulled out a litde black book, and prayed
fervently as if she felt she had no time to lose. The

1 1 — 2

i64 PICTURE-SEEING IN BELGIUM AND HOLLAND.

pretty nun told us in the most charmingly simple
manner that they never went out, they knew nothing
about the world, they spent their time in teaching
poor children ; and that their chapel was dedicated to
* The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin.' I shall
never forget her way of pronouncing the last few
words ; there was a timid solemnity about her
broken English inexpressibly charming. As soon
as the old nun (who I forgot to tell you had a beard)
saw we were leaving the chapel, she made an end of
her prayers, shut up the little black book, and
followed us closely. There was nothing more to see,
so I prepared to pay, and at the door I put a franc,
the usual sum given, into the pretty nun's hand.
She turned very red, and I saw there was something
wrong. The old nun, who had her leaden eye on
everything, gave her a nod ; and then she came up
to me and said in her pretty way that each person
must pay half a franc, and as there were three of
us, I had given too little. "It was for the poor
children," she said. So instead of another half-
franc, we gave her a whole one, and so came
away. ..."

"Ghent, July, 1850.

After Bruges we went to Ghent, where there
are many pictures, and, as a city, it is particularly
interesting. The people at the hotel at Bruges
recommended us to an hotel at Ghent, and as we
had been uncommonly well treated at the former
place we followed their advice, and the consequence
was we were located in the best hotel in the place.

PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE.

165

Ghent, as you perhaps know, zs the principal town
of Flanders, and was one of the richest cities in
the world, famous for its manufactures of all sorts,
especially cloths, and for the vigorous stand con-
stantly made by the merchants against unpalatable
taxes and against what they justly considered
the misgovernment of the Counts of Flanders.
Many times were they defeated, and as often
had to send the principal offenders, with ropes
round their necks and only covered by their shirts,
to beg for mercy from such men as Charles
the Bold, and also from the Spaniards, who then
held all the Low Countries. The most beautiful
remains of domestic architecture to be found in
Ghent are the houses built by the Spaniards. I could
fancy I traced something Moorish in some of
the Spanish buildings. The wicked Duke d'Alva,
who united in his disposition the most ferocious
cruelty with the most intense religious bigotry, has
left his mark on Ghent to the present moment, for
he sent a cannon-ball bang through the centre of
the principal bell at the top of the famous Bell
Tower. One of the scenes of Taylor's play of
* Philip Van Artevelde ' is laid in the Bell Tower of
Ghent. This last-named person was one of those
who, possessing great powers, occasionally raise
themselves above their fellows, and suffer in conse-
quence. Van Artevelde did more to raise Ghent to
its commercial prosperity than all the rest of the
merchants put together. He was made chief magis-
trate, and of course became odious to many on

i66 PICTURE-SEEING IN BELGIUM AND HOLLAND.

account of his success ; and his enemies at last
persuaded the people that he intended to se/l them
to the King of England ; and one day, when he had
returned from England, his house was stormed, and
he was torn to pieces. His house still exists, and
there is a tablet recording his destruction. Of all
the commissioners, as they are called (persons who
are hired by strangers to show the sights of the
town\ the one at Ghent was the most intelligent.
He was exceedingly angry if we didn't admire all
that he showed us. His knowledge of pictures was
small, and therefore he occasionally directed our
attention to great rubbish, and his rage when we
found fault was laughable. However, he certainly
took us to one picture — ' St. Bavon,' by Rubens —
that we praised to his heart's content. We told our
commissioner our principal object was pictures, and
that he must take us where there were the best.
He told us with a knowing look he would show us
the finest in the world, and great was his disgust
when we turned up our noses. I couldn't understand
him, as he spoke Dutch to the man who had
charge of them ; but I never saw contempt stronger
on anybody's face in all my life : he evidently thought
we were affecting a taste for pictures, knowing
nothing about them. Our friend had but one arm (the
left one), and we were curious to know how he had
lost its fellow. It appears he was unable to restrain
his curiosity during the Revolution (at the time of
the separation of Belgium from Holland), and he must
needs go amongst the crowd who were being driven

THE GREAT BEGUINAGE.

167

backwards and forwards by the soldiery. Seeing-
many people killed about him, he thought he was
not in a particularly safe position, and the sooner he
got to his own home the better. After one of the
charges by the military, he found himself within a
few yards of his own door. It was shut, of course ;
he raised his right arm to ring the bell, when whiz !
bang I came a ball and shattered it — * So I was
obliged to ring with my left hand, sir,' concluded our
irritable friend. There is a very remarkable re-
ligious establishment in Ghent called the Great
Beguinage ; it is quite a little town surrounded by
water. You enter through a sort of half-fortified
gateway, and there are streets and squares all in
miniature proportion like any town. The place con-
tains more than six hundred nuns, all living alone in
separate houses ; they have left their worldly names
outside the gates, and are known by the names of
different saints, adopted according to their fancy,
and painted over every door. They have a beauti-
ful chapel, in which they may be seen any evening
by strangers ; it is only by attending the chapel that
you can see them assembled, otherwise your know-
ledge is limited to an occasional sight of a solitary
nun as she walks quietly through the little streets to
her own home, returning, perhaps, from some sick
person's bed in the town. They have their property
at their own separate disposal, and they can leave
the convent if they are so inclined. This is a very
singular regulation, and it is their boast that, though
they have existed as a body many hundreds of

i6S PICTURE-SEEING IN BELGIUM AND HOLLAND.

years, there has never been an instance of secession.
The * Grand Beguinage ' is the only reHgious estab-
Hshment that was not molested by Bonaparte. He
considered it so well calculated to do good, and its
laws framed on so excellent a plan, that he showed
the good nuns the light of his countenance, and never

interfered with their quiet duties

" I must not forget to tell you of an incident that
took place the night we slept at Ghent. The day
had been close, sultry, and oppressive, not a breath
of air stirring, and I think it was pretty well mid-
night before we went to bed. We generally managed
to get our bedrooms together, or as nearly so as
might be ; and it happened that Stone and I were
placed near each other. The partition that separated
the rooms was thin, and we could talk comfortably
throucrh the walls. When our candles were extin-

guished, we found our rooms as light as day with
the moonlight. We both got up, opened our
windows, and leaning out we paid the lovely night
many compliments. It was certainly exquisite — our
windows overlooked the inn garden — the trees and
walks, and the white statues looking charming in
the moonlight. Perhaps we talked rather loud ;
whether we did or not, somebody heard us, for I
was in the middle of a lovely speech to the moon
(which Stone was laughing at, by-the-bye), when the
head of a woman with a night-cap on it was poked
out of the window beneath me, and a vixenish voice
said in unmistakable English, ' Perhaps you will be
good enough to remember there are other people

A PROSPEROUS ARTIST.

169

in the hotel besides yourselves, and they are not
fond of such noises in the middle of the night as you
are making.' The vixenish face disappeared, and
down went the window. Stone finished his lauQfh at
my speech rather louder perhaps than the lady
liked, and wishing her a very good-night, we went
to bed."

" Brussels, 1850,
We had received such unfavourable accounts of
the pictorial treasures at Brussels, that we should
have passed over that place altogether but for the
fact of our having accepted letters of introduction to
two of the most famous artists of Belgium, Messrs.
Gallait and Geefs, whose acquaintance we were very
desirous of making. See us then, immediately after
our arrival at * Belgium's capital,' hiring a carriage
and a commissioner — a horrible rascal, by the way —
determined to see everything as quickly as possible.
First of all to Mr. Gallait, who lived in the outskirts
of the town ; a long and wearisome journey. Our
horses seemed to have been in the employment of an
undertaker, and no whipping would prevail on them
to quicken their funereal pace. And the long
regular streets ! up one, down another, all so much
alike that I could fancy we were continually going
up and down the same hot street for a punishment.
At last the gates of Brussels were passed, and we
reached Mr. Gallait's, whom w^e fortunately found at
home. If one might judge of the prosperity of the
artists in Belgium by the style in which Gallait
seems to vegetate, it would appear that the sooner

I70 PICTURE'SEEING IN BELGIUM AND HOLLAND.

one takes up one's bed and goes to Brussels the
better ; but the great painter's account of the
patronage he has received, and the evident comfort
in which he hves, do not agree in the least ; for he
told us that since he had been working in Belgium
for nine years he had sold but two pictures to
private buyers, the State being the patron — how
unlike England ! Gallait's house is large and
splendidly appointed, with a lovely garden and the
best studio I ever saw. He is a remarkably hand-
some man, very dark, with a long black beard.
Not a word of English could he utter, so I was
obliged to be spokesman. We had not come at a
good time, he said, for he had little to show us —
chiefly portraits, but those very good and very
English in the style of painting. When our Queen
was in Belgium she gave Gallait two commissions
which he executed, and the two pictures are now at
Windsor. There were many small pictures and
sketches in his room unsold, malheureusement," as
he said. We went from Gallait's to the Palais de
Justice, where is a colossal work by him — the abdi-
cation of one of the Kings of Spain in favour of his
son — which raised the painter still higher in our esti-
mation. Our next visit was to Mr. Geefs, the
sculptor, and mighty polite he was, speaking capital
English. A voluble, energetic little chap ; it was
quite pleasant to talk to him. His chief work is an
immense group, composed of several figures, to
commemorate those who fell in the Revolution. It
is placed in a square called ' the Place of the

A BLIND GUIDE.

171

Martyrs/ over the bodies of the martyrs aforesaid.
To examine it, you must descend into a kind of
vault, where may be read in letters of gold the
names of those ' slain in the defence of liberty,' as
the old soldier custodian expressed it. There were
vast numbers from all parts ; their places of abode
inscribed after each name. Some from Italy, some
from Ireland, and one or two Englishmen amongst
them. We felt the policy of thus 'provoking the
silent dust with honour's voice,' especially with such
people as the Belgians, many of whom would almost
sacrifice their lives for the sake of a corner amongst
those gilded names. Imagine the powerful incen-
tive on future occasions, when they know that if
they fall their families will be provided for, and their
names go down to an admiring posterity in letters of
gold.

' Now remember,' said Stone, being dreadfully
out of temper with our commissioner, who wanted
to take us to see lace-making and nonsense of that
sort — ' remember, I say, that pictures are our object,
and as we have very little time, you will be good
enough to take us only to places where pictures are
to be seen.'

" ' Very well, gentlemen ; very well,' was the
invariable reply ; and as invariably did he propose
botanical gardens, or crockery-shops, or a sala-
mander— ' a very rare beast ' that was to be seen a
few miles away. The conviction came upon us that
he got a fee from the proprietors of these different
objects of attraction, and we told him so by way of

172 PICTURE-SEEING IN BELGIUM AND HOLLAND.

Stopping his proposals ; but nothing would do — he
was the most persevering wretch I ever met with.
We had been told of a large collection of modern
Belgian and French pictures belonging to a mer-
chant, a Mr. Van der Something. So without more
ado we ordered our commissioner to take us to
— what seemed to plain English comprehension — a
large establishment in the grocery business. We
walked into a large shop, and were told by an old
lady who was serving behind the counter- — Mrs.

Van der , I have no doubt — that if we would do

her the honour to give ourselves the trouble to walk
* down there,' waving her hand gracefully towards
an avenue of tea-chests, orange-boxes, etc., etc., we
should arrive at ^ the picture gallery.' We followed
her directions, and without losing our way among the
groceries, we reached the pictures and Mr. Van der
himself, who was playing the part of show-
man to some ladies and gentlemen who seemed in
raptures with the pictures. * And is this,' we all
exclaimed, 'a display of the choicest pictures that
the Belgian school can produce ? if so, we may be
justly proud of our own.' But what were we to say
to the picture-loving grocer, who was all agape to
catch our praise, and praise we could not ? We
made a shabby excuse of being pressed for time, and
so left him with a firm conviction on his mind that
we were three English fools who neither cared for
pictures nor understood them.

* Now, gentlemen,' said the commissioner, 'there
is only the Museum where there are pictures, not

TOUCHING FAREWELLS.

173

good ones ' (there was nothing to pay there, so our
friend could receive no bribe) ; ' so you will perhaps
have time to go and see the lace-making ; it is
really '

' Confound both you and the lace ! Why
the devil don't you cease to bother us said
Stone.

' Very well, gentlemen ; very well.'

So to the Museum we went, and found a very
large and indifferent collection, scarcely a good
picture in the lot ; some real Rubens, but very poor
ones. There is really nothing that one remembers
with pleasure. This finished our picture-seeing, and
we were nearly finished ourselves with the intoler-
able heat and dust.

' Now, then, drive to the hotel as fast as these
undertaker s horses of yours will go.'

' Very well, gentlemen — very well ; but there is
a salamander to be seen in the garden of '

* D n the salamander and you too !' said Egg.

' Very well, gentlemen.'
" And to the hotel we went, and soon after found
ourselves at the station, attended by our com-
missioner, whose services were required to look after
the luggage. I think the fellow felt he had not
made an agreeable impression upon us, for as we
were sitting in the train on the point of starting for
Antwerp, he put his ugly face in at the window, and
said :

" * I beg pardon, gentlemen, but if you should
come to Brussels again, I would advise you by all

174 PICTURE-SEEING IN BELGIUM AND HOLLAND,

means to see the salamander ; you have not such a

thing in '

" We all three gave him our blessing, and in the
midst of ' Very well, gentlemen — very well/ we left
for Antwerp."

"Antwerp, August, 1850.
Stone not being well, Egg and I started early
on our pictorial pilgrimeige. Antwerp, of all Belgian
towns, is richest in the pictures of Rubens. In Ant-
werp he lived, and there he died ; his body lies in
the church of St. Jacques, under the high altar of a
little chapel in one of the side aisles. One of his
finest pictures decorates the altar, the subject being
a holy family with attending saints. The handsomest
of Rubens's wives represents the Virgin ; the great
painter himself is contented to play the inferior part
of St. George, whilst his children disport themselves
as cherubim of ravishing beauty. There can be no
doubt that Rubens greatly honoured Antwerp, and
in these later days Antwerp has returned the com-
pliment by placing a large statue of him in the Place
Vert, by calling streets and hotels after him, and by
placing the chair in which he sat, wreathed with
immortelles, in the Museum ; where his works glow
with colours that seem as fresh after two hundred
years as if they had just left the artist's palette.
Rubens was certainly one of the greatest geniuses
the world has ever produced, and the rapidity with
which his pictures were painted — if we may believe
tradition — is almost as wonderful as the pictures
themselves. It is said that the altar-piece at St.

JOURNEY TO ROTTERDAM.

175

Jacques was begun and finished in six weeks ! I am
not disposed to dispute this, for granting the work
to be an almost miraculous performance, it is very-
likely to have been produced in a miraculously short
time. To such powers as this man possessed,
nothing seems impossible in the form of pictorial
.achievement. I had seen the two grand pictures in
the cathedral some years ago, and I am happy to
say I am more able to appreciate them now^ than I
was then. Sir Joshua Reynolds tells us that when he
visited Antwerp seventy years ago, he lost much
time in going from church to church in quest of
Rubens's pictures. We were more fortunate, for
though some of the finest are in the positions in
which Reynolds saw them, great numbers have been
moved, and now form part of the national collection
in the Museum.'^

The following gives my impressions of our journey
to Rotterdam en route to the Hague :

I will now continue my account of our wander-
ings. We left Antwerp with regret, and having the
choice of going to Rotterdam en route to the Hague,
either by sea or by canal, we preferred the latter.
The trip, all the way from Antwerp, is the pleasantest
that can be imagined ; there is the usual nuisance
of the examination of luggage on the frontier of
Holland as a slight drawback. The steamer stopped
opposite a dirty-looking fishing town, and a couple
of important functionaries belonging to the Excise
•came on board and made themselves as unpleasant
as possible. However, they found nothing con-

176 PICTURE-SEEING IN BELGIUM AND HOLLAND.

traband, so we were allowed to proceed on our
journey. Dordrecht — or, as it is commonly called,
Dort — was the birthplace and residence of Cuyp,
one of the crreat luminaries of the Dutch school. The
scenes of most of his works lay by and on the rivers
and canals about Dort, and after seeing so many of
this great painter's works, it was quite curious to
meet at almost every turn of the river some spot
that seemed familiar to us; and it was not till we
remembered that we were in the locality of so many
of Cuyp's pictures, that we could persuade ourselves
that we had not often visited the places that we now
saw for the first time."

Here end the extracts from the letters written
when the impressions they record were fresh. I
think I must have written much about the Hague,
so rich is that place in pictorial treasures. If I did,
the letter has been lost ; but as I have visited the
Hague since, and my notes on the pictures may be
found elsewhere in these reminiscences, the lost letter
is of no consequence.

CHAPTER XV.

SERVICE OF ART IN DETECTION OF CRIME.

Stone painted charming pictures, which were en-
graved and very popular ; notably a pair, " The First
Appeal " and The Last Appeal." Love was the
theme of these and of most of Stone's work. The
two Appeals " were bought by Mr. Baring, and
were injured in a fire that took place at that gentle-
man's house. The Last Appeal " caught fire first,
and much of the paint was burnt from the canvas ;

The First Appeal " being but slightly injured. On
hearing of the fate that had befallen the pictures,
Douglas Jerrold is reported to have said, " Dear me,
* The Last Appeal ' was * the first to peel.' "

Stone was one of the Dickens Theatrical Com-
pany, and played many good parts admirably ; his
handsome face and fine figure, conspicuous off the
stage, were of great service to him upon it. He told
me of one of Jerrold's sarcastic sayings, perfectly
indifferent to its application to himself. Stone had
replaced his chimney-pot hat by a travelling-cap,
during one of the hot and dusty journeys of the
company to Manchester. The hat was so placed as
to make it the receptacle of much dust and dirt.

VOL. I. 12

178 SERVICE OF ART IN DETECTION OF CRIME.

Look here," he said to Jerrold, my hat is half
full of rubbish."

" It is used to that," was the reply.

I never sought Jerrold's acquaintance. I was
afraid of him, for I dreaded his tonofue. I was mis-
taken, no doubt, in estimating his character by the
seeming brutality of some of the sarcasms he uttered,
for those who knew him intimately all agreed in de-
claring Jerrold to be one of the kindest-hearted men
living. Compton the actor agreed in this, but told
me of an instance of Jerrold's ready wit, which, to
the ordinary mind, scarcely bears out the amiable
theory. Jerrold was roving about the West End in
search of a house that he had been commissioned to
hire for the season for a country friend. Compton
met and accompanied him into a house, and in one
of the rooms was a large mirror that reflected the
visitor from top to toe :

There," said Compton, pointing to his own
figure, " that's what I call a picture."

" Yes," said Jerrold, " it only w^ants hanging."

I must now return to Ivy Cottage, where Egg
lived for many years. At the corner of what is now
Queen's Road, stood an inn called the Black Lion ;
from that hostelry, and extending down the only
part of the ground then built upon, was a high
hedge, which enlosed Ivy Cottage and the garden
surrounding it. The house was very old and very
picturesque, and had long been the residence of the
eminent engraver Reynolds, known as one of the
best translators of his great namesake's works.
Reynolds's workroom became Egg's studio ; it was

A MISUNDERSTANDING CLEARED UP.

179

approached through the dining-room, in which so
many of my happiest evenings were spent. Mul-
ready, whose art needs no eulogy from me, became
a frequent guest. It was some time, however, before
he could be induced to accept Egg's oft-repeated
invitations. I knew Mulready very well, and one
day Egg begged me to try to discover Mulready's
reason for so constantly declining his invitations.

The truth is," said Mulready, I don't want to
meet Leech, who, I understand, constantly dines
with you all."

" May I ask why, sir?" said I.
Yes, I will tell you. You know the postage
envelope that I designed, and which has been so
mercilessly criticised — well, Leech caricatured it. I
don't mind a bit about that; but what I think I have a
right to object to is the insult offered to me by a little
bottle in the corner of the caricature with a leech in it.
He implies that I am a leech, a blood-sucker, in re-
spect of the remuneration I have received for my art
generally, and no doubt, also, for that confounded
postal envelope in particular. Now, you know that
my prices have never been extravagant," etc.

I was so amazed that anyone could be ignorant of
Leech's usual manner of signing his drawings, that I
could scarcely find words to reply, and still more
difficult was it to refrain from annoying the old artist
by laughing in his face. Suffice it to say that I made
the matter clear to Mulready, and obtained from him
an eager promise to accept Egg's next invitation.
Leech was present at the dinner first attended by

I 2 — 2

i8o SERVICE OF ART IN DETECTION OF CRIME.

Mulready, when he heard with amused astonishment,
from Mulready himself, of his misunderstanding of
the leech in the bottle. The two artists became
great friends.

Mark Lemon, then editor of Punch, was a con-
stant guest at Egg's dinners. He was occasion-
ally accompanied by a friend whose society was
delightful until he had taken the quantity of wine
that usually makes ordinary people jovial ; he then
became quarrelsome, unless Dickens happened to be
a guest, when the august presence generally saved
Egg's wine, and ourselves from unpleasantness.

Lemon always watched the approach of inebriety ;
and on one occasion he said to me : Look at
B , he is trying to peel an apple with the nut-
crackers ; so I shall have to carry him off very soon."

When Hans Christian Andersen was staying
with Dickens, Lemon was invited to meet the cele-
brated Dane at dinner ; and on the occasion Lemon
was more than usually entertaining, so much so as
to cause Andersen to say: *'Ah, Mr. Lemon, I like
you ; you are so full of comic."

At one of Egg's dinners Mulready told us of an
adventure with a highwayman in nearly the follow-
ing words :

" I have lived somewhere or other in Bayswater
all my life ; and when I was a student at Somerset
House, about the year 1805, I always walked along
what is now called the Bayswater Road, down to
the Strand and back again — no omnibuses in those
days, and hackney-coaches were beyond my pocket.

MULREADY AND THE HIGHWAYMAN,

i8i

One bright moonlight night I had proceeded about
as far as where the town-end of Westbourne Terrace
is now — nothing but a country lane then ; not a
house of any kind near — when a man came out of
the shadow thrown by a large tree, and producing a
pistol, addressed me in the usual robber fashion with —

' Your watch and money, please.'

' I am a poor artist,' said I. ' See, these are my
drawings. I haven't got a watch ; I have never
been able to buy one.'

' Your money then, and be quick !'
" All this time I was watching the fellow's face by
the moonlight ; it was very white, and I think he
was more frightened than I was. I gave him all
the silver I had about me ; he then said ' Good-
night' civilly enough, and started off towards London.

I made the best of my way home, and before I
went to bed I drew the man's face very carefully,
and very like him, as the sequel will prove. The
next morning I went to Bow Street with my draw-
ing, in the hope that it might be recognised by the
officers there, as being like some one known to them ;
but no. Several of them examined it carefully, and
attentively listened to my story ; but the face, they
said, was new to them.

' If you will leave the likeness here, sir,' said the
chief ' runner,' ' we may perhaps come across the
person it represents.'

That event very soon happened ; for, if my
memory serves me, a fortnight had scarcely passed
before I had a call from the Bow Street officer, who
told me he believed my friend was caught ; ' could I

1 82 SERVICE OF ART IN DETECTION OF CRIME.

go with him at once ? he had a coach at the door.'
We rumbled away to a watch-house somewhere near
Southwark Bridge. We entered the room, and
found a man dressed Hke a sailor toasting a red
herring over the fire. He turned at the noise made
by the opening of the door, and I recognised my
thief I walked up to him and said :

* How do you do ?'

' Pretty well, thank you, sir. Shall be better
when I have put this herring out of the way.'

" * Ah ! if you had confined yourself to putting
herrings out of the way it would have been better
for you,' said the officer.

' Oh, gammon ! I am innocent of that,' replied
the sailor.

*'*What is he supposed to have done now?'
said I.

*''Why, sir, only murdering the toll-keeper on
Southwark Bridge and robbing the place.'

* Do you remember me ?' said I.

' No, sir ; I never saw you before.'

* What ! not on a moonlight night in the
Oxford Road ?'

" ' Couldn't have been me, sir — never was in the
Oxford Road in my life.'

The murder was proved as easily as I could
have proved my charge against the man, and he
was hanged."

Mulready was fond of attending trials of great
criminals. He showed me drawings of many whose
crimes and names are forgotten. I think it was
about 1824 when Mr. William Weare was murdered

PORTRAITS OF CRIMINALS.

183

by Thurtell. The circumstances connected with
that crime are so well known as to render any re-
capitulation of them by me unnecessary. Mulready
was in court during the trial, when he drew like-
nesses of Thurtell and his accomplices Hunt and
Probert, and found his sketch-book serviceable for a
strange purpose.

A portion of Weare's skull had been broken by
Thurtell's pistol into several small pieces, which the
surgeon, who was giving evidence, vainly tried to
piece together, so as to fit them into that part of the
skull that had escaped fracture. Seeing that the
surgeon's nervousness rendered him quite incapable
of obeying the Judge's order, Mulready offered his
services ; and on the back of his sketch-book he
fitted together the pieces of bone " as you would a
puzzle" — he said to me — and handed them to the jury.
Thurtell was hanged, and his body consigned to the
surgeons. We had casts w^hich had been taken
from different parts of him at Sass's school, to help
us in our anatomical studies. All new students
were introduced to Thurtell's eyelashes, which had
adhered to the plaster when the cast was taken, our
practice being to rub the new-comer's nose into them.

I may give one more instance of the service art
has been in detecting crime. My friend O'Neil, in
passing a public-house opposite Kensington Church,
was robbed of his watch. He was ascertaining the
time by gas-light, when a man snatched it from
him after a very short struggle, sprang into a gig
that was standing at the door, and drove off. The
time for observation was very short, but it was long

1 84 SERVICE OF ART IN DETECTION OF CRIME,

enough to enable O'Neil to fix the man's face in his
mind, and also upon paper when he got home.

The police were presented with the copy, and re-
quested to look out for the original ; who was soon
after arrested and committed for trial. O' Neil's
drawing was produced, and considered, together
with his sworn recognition, sufficient proof of the
man's guilt, in spite of a very able defence by his
counsel, who ridiculed the drawing mercilessly,
declaring it was as much like Julius Ccesar as the
prisoner at the bar.

" The man was convicted," said O'Neil, " and the
sentence was no sooner passed than there came a
message from that impudent barrister asking me to
let him keep the drawing, as he considered it such a
capital likeness of the man."

It was possible to see into Ivy Cottage from the
top of an omnibus, or any vehicle higher than the
hedge that separated the house from the Queen's
Road ; and it was also easy to see tempting objects
to thieves, for the sideboard in the dining-room, with
much valuable silver upon it, was plainly visible.
Whether Egg's riches were discovered in the way I
have pointed out or not, was never known ; but one
night the house was burglariously entered, and silver
of the value of more than a hundred pounds was
carried off. Egg made a sketch of the scene that
his dining-room presented on the morning after the
robbery. He drew himself standing in his dressing-
gown, ruefully contemplating some heaps of salt which
the thieves had emptied on to his red velvet easy-
chair out of the silver salt-cellars.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE ''coming of AGE."

I MUST now take leave of Ivy Cottage, and return
to more personal matter. The success that had at-
tended the pictures of the ''Merry-making" and "The
Old Woman accused of Witchcraft," encouraged me
to further effort in the direction of large composi-
tions.

Fear of modern-life subjects still possessed me.
The hat and trousers pictures that I had seen
attempted had all been dismal failures ; and I felt
sure, or thought I did, that unless a subject of
tremendous human interest could be found — such
an interest as should make the spectator forget the
dresses of the actors in it — modern life was impos-
sible ; and as no such subject presented itself, I took
refuge in bygone times ; and during my seaside
holiday in 1848, I made a sketch for a picture to be
called "Coming of Age," the period being about that
of Elizabeth. The scene is laid in the quadrangle of
an old English mansion. On steps leading to the
house stands the young heir, listening to an address
of congratulation read by an old man, who may be

VOL. I.

i86

THE ''COMING OF AGE."

parish clerk. Groups of villagers, tenants, and
others, surround the reader, several of whom bring
gifts. An armourer presents a helmet decked with
flowers ; a falconer's boy is in charge of two dogs (deer
and blood-hounds); an old woman, who may have been
the young lord's nurse, with clasped hands invokes a
blessing upon him ; and in the background peasants
and neighbours are regaling on an ox roasted whole,
that affords a satisfactory piece de resista7tce. Some
noble relatives of the young heir stand behind him.

My authorities for the background were Hever
Castle, and Heslington Hall, near York. This
picture has been well engraved, and therefore may
be so familiar to my reader as to make further de-
scription of it needless.

After the much greater difficulties of finding ap-
propriate models, costume is one of the most trouble-
some details that a painter has to contend with.
Many visits to the Print-room of the British Museum
may be paid in vain. The authorities are difficult
to find, and when found, and the masquerade-shop
is rummaged, only to discover tinsel and theatrical
absurdities in the shape of dresses that no human
creature ever wore at any time, except on the boards
of a minor theatre — the artist's trouble may be
imagined. In these days there are persons learned
in ancient dress, whose assistance to the painter is
very valuable, and to be acquired at a reasonable
price ; but when the ''Coming of Age" was painted,
no such advantage existed, and the dresses for my
picture had to be made from the best authorities I

AN OX ROASTED WHOLE.

187

could find. I was so fortunate as to see an ox
roasted whole — a ceremony that was advertised to
take place at the opening of a cattle-market at
Islington.

I think neither sight nor smell were altogether
pleasant, and the company was doubtful. I stood
on a bench, from w^hich I could sketch the huge
roast, and at my feet stood a youth of somewhat
criminal aspect. He was occupied innocently enough,
when two men made their way through the crowd,
one of whom seized the lad's hands, whilst the other
instantly handcuffed him. I can hear now^ the click
of the handcuffs and the lad's " Wot's this for?" and
the thief-takers' reply: You know what it's for, and
you come along."

I find by my diary that the "Coming of Age"
was begun on one of the last days in September,
1848, and finished in April, 1849; and if some of
my young student friends could see my diaries for
the last five-and-forty years, they would see a record
of incessant work — no day, literally, without a line —
that I do believe would surprise them. My work
has never been interrupted, I am thankful to say,
by illness, and I never allowed it to be interrupted by
anything else.

In my early days I worked on Sundays — following
the example of those about me — in spite of the
remonstrances of my good mother, who used every
argument she could think of to prevent my persist-
ing in doing what she knew to be wicked ; and
being fully persuaded that even worldly success could

THE ''COMING OF AGE:

never attend such doings, she finished a homily
one day by telling me that if I "persisted in working
on the Sabbath, I should never be worth a farthing
as long as I lived."

In reply I said : My dear mother, I don't defend
working on Sunday for a moment ; but with respect
to the curse of poverty following such doings, you
.^j^^ \ must remember Sir Joshua Reynolds always painted
on Sundays, and he died worth seventy-three
thousand pounds in the three per cents."

''That has nothing whatever to do with it," re-
plied my mother.

This has always struck me as a delightful example
of the logical faculty in the female mind.

In the production of a work of art, friendly or un-
friendly criticism is of great value, but few advant-
ages are more difficult to secure. Men paint in
various styles, and the ordinary habit is for one's
critic to be unable to identify himself with the in-
tention of the friend whose picture he has to criticise
He cannot help you along the road you have chosen,
because his own course of treatment would have
been altogether different. Hence, some of the
greatest artists I have known have been useless as
critics ; whilst other and very inferior painters,
having both inclination and power to place them-
selves, as it were, on one's own standpoint, have
been of infinite service. There are two kinds of
critics : one may be too good-natured, and the
other too severe — I have gained and greatly suf-
fered by the latter. I always know when I have

A USEFUL CRITIC.

been successful by the savage way in which my
friend attacks me. All lay criticism is, in my
opinion, almost useless. There are exceptions, no
doubt ; and I recall one as I write, in the person of
one of the smallest men conceivable — Peter Powell.
Peter was the intimate friend of Washington Irving,
Stewart Newton, R.A., and C. R. Leslie, R.A. In
the autobiography of the last-named, justice is done
to the humorous side of Powell's character ; his
critical powers are not mentioned.

I made Peter's acquaintance while I was painting
the Coming of Age." He often saw the picture,
and it was the better for his visits. As he sat
behind me one day, he told the following story. I
should premise that Powell was a clerk in the War
Office, and during his usual holiday he joined a
party of friends on an excursion to Switzerland, via
the Rhine, leaving his mother (with whom, being
unmarried, he constantly resided) at his house in
London. From all I heard, the affection that com-
monly exists between son and mother was on Powell's
side of extraordinary tenderness ; and though what I
am about to relate may seem to prove that a man of
remarkable common-sense may be subject to super-
stitious terrors, the simple way in which Powell told
his story, and my knowledge of his perfect truthful-
ness, leave no doubt in my mind that the events
happened as he related them.

The party had reached Basle, having fully enjoyed
the beauties of the Rhine ; and after a very fatiguing
day, Powell retired to bed and was immediately

THE ''COMING OF AGE.

sound asleep. How long he had slept he had no
means of knowing, when he was awoke by what
appeared to be the sound of his own name. At first
he gave a dream credit for an illusion, and was com-
posing himself for a second sleep, when, as it
seemed, close to his ear, his name was repeated, and
in the unmistakable voice of his mother. Further
sleep w^as now out of the question. Powell rose
from his bed, struck a match, and by its light he
ascertained the precise time — huenty-one mimUes past
three ! He lighted candles, dressed, and tried to
read till daylight. There were no telegraphs, nor
indeed railways, at the time of these events ; and the
uncertainty of the travellers' movements made com-
munication by post almost impossible. Though
Powell had hitherto laughed at the stories of the
dead speaking to the living, to announce the time of
their departure from this world, his experience of
this night might prove the truth of what is so com-
monly believed ; and so completely did this idea
possess him, that further participation in a pleasure-
trip was out of the question, and in spite of the
earnest entreaties of his friends — armed with all the
usual arguments used in such cases — he determined
to return home as fast as post-horses could take him,
and learn the worst.

''Never in my life," said Powell, "did I suffer so
terribly. My mother had always been more than a
mother to me — she was the cleverest, best of women.
I thought the journey would never end ; but end it
did at last, and with a beating heart I went towards

A MISTAKEN PRESENTIMENT.

191

my home, henceforth to be desolate. The servant
started and turned pale when she opened the door ;
I could not speak, but rushed past her, and, scarcely
knowing what I did, I flung open the sitting-room
door, and found my mother reading the ' Pilgrim's
Progress.' She started like the servant, but without
turning pale ; on the contrary, I never saw her look-
ing better, as she took me in her arms and said :

' Good gracious, Peter ! what has brought you
back so soon ? and what is the matter with you ?
What are you crying for? Do tell me what has
brought you back before your holiday is half over !'

" ' Voii did !' said I, when I could recover myself ;
' you called me !'

And many a laugh the dear old lady and I had
over my spoilt holiday, and my stupidity in spoiling
it. But, mind you, nothing will ever convince me
that I was asleep, or dreaming, or suffering from
indigestion, or that I did not distinctly hear my
mother's voice."

Admission to the ranks of the Royal Academy
carries with it many advantages. Amongst the
most valuable, and sometimes the most abused, is
the right to ''the line" for eight works ; and though
that privilege has been curtailed in the present day
by a sort of arrangement that no member shall c/ai/u
to have more than four pictures conspicuously placed,
certain favoured individuals — sometimes the least
deserving — are permitted to ignore the salutary
regulation and parade their enfeebled powers, to the
injury of the Exhibition and to their own dis-

192

THE ''COMING OF AGE:

comfiture. In my early days, the Associates were
seldom allowed to exhibit in the Large Room at all,
and scarcely ever given more than one place upon the
line ; nearly all my own smaller pictures, including
" Sir Roger de Coverley and the Spectator," ''The
Good-natured Man" — now in the Sheepshanks Gallery
— and many others, were hung near the floor, or in
dark and secluded corners. The Coming of Age "
was very kindly placed in one of the much-coveted
angles of the Middle Room ; the Press notices, then
eagerly read by me, were on the whole favourable.
Thackeray, advocating the more frequent illustration
of modern life, asked in a review of the Exhibition,
''Why, when a man comes of age, it should be
thought desirable that he should come of the age of
Elizabeth ?" and another critic suggested that it would
have been better if such an ill-drawn idiotic youth
as Mr. Frith represents had been cut off in infancy,
and so been prevented from "coming of age" at all.

Between the production of such large compositions
as the "Merry-making," "Witchcraft," and "Coming
of Age " pictures, many small works were painted,
and amongst them was one called "A Gleaner," a
half-length of a girl carrying a sheaf of corn. I cannot
claim the entire design of this little study, for it was
arranged partly by Frederick Tayler, the then Presi-
dent of the Water-Colour Society, who, being
ambitious to try his hand in oil-colours, had come to
me for some friendly lessons in a part of the art with
which he was unfamiliar. Though hampered by a
strange method, he succeeded in producing a charm-

''THE gleaner:

193

ing study, which was immediately bought by Mr.
Jacob Bell ; and if the great demand for his water-
colour drawings would have allowed him time for
different practice in oil, I have no doubt that my old
friend — my very old friend, for he survives at the
ripe age of eighty-seven — would have rivalled his
own excellence in water-colours.

My little ''Gleaner" became the property of a

Mr. G of Birmingham, who dealt in wearing

apparel as well as pictures. My price, thirty guineas,
was cheerfully paid. Before the picture left me it
was seen by a Mr. Birt, who was forming a collection
of small pictures, and by his suggestion I repeated
the subject, but changing the half-length into a
representation of the entire figure, with a background
of Scottish mountain scenery. Before beginning the

second picture, I wrote to Mr. G asking his

permission, as I felt bound to do, and he replied that
he would consent on the condition of his having the
refusal of the proposed picture. The background
became of such importance in the new work that I
feared to undertake it, and I proposed to C res wick
that he should assist ; to this he consented for " a
consideration." The picture was finished ; Mr. Birt
saw it, and offered what appeared to me the mon-
strous sum of a hundred and fifty guineas for it.
After many struggles between my modesty and my
avarice, and after hearing from many friends that I
should be a bigforer fool than I looked— which I was

assured was impossible — if I asked Mr. G a

lower price than another was willing to pay, I accord-

VOL. I. 13

194

THE ''COMING OF AGE:

ingly wrote to Mr. G , and received the follow-
ing reply :

" Dear Sir,

" If I read your note correctly, and you ask
the sum of 150 guineas for the picture of the
' Gleaner,' I beg to decline it.

" Yours, etc.,

^'j. G — r

I was not surprised, and Mr. Birt was pleased — or
he said he was — when he paid the largest price I had
then received for so small a work. I can imagine
Mr. G 's disappointment if he heard years after-
wards that he had neglected a good investment ;
for at the sale of Mr. Birt's pictures the " Gleaner"
fetched seven hundred guineas. This picture, after
passing through several hands, is now in the pos-
session of Mr. Pender, in Arlington Street.

I hope in noticing strange instances of the
caprices of value of my own works, I shall not lay
myself open to a charge of vainglorious boasting ;
nor will I allow the fear of such an accusation to pre-
vent my naming any instance that may occur to me
which I think may illustrate the great demand for
certain kinds of art, the production of others' as well
as of my own hard-worked brush.

It was during the varnishing-days of the year
in which the Coming of Age " was exhibited that I
first saw Sir William Allan, the intimate friend of
Walter Scott and Wilkie. At luncheon-time a

WILKIE AND HIS MOTHER.

195

little gray old gentleman made his appearance, and
was received with cheers.

''Who is that?" said I to Maclise.
That's Wullie Allan," was the reply.

Wilkie had been dead some years, and there was
much talk of him and his early life in London,
deeply interesting to me. A great deal of it has
escaped my memory, but the following anecdote
told by Mulready may entertain others as it did
me :

After the death of Wilkie's father — a Scottish
minister — his mother and sister came to London and
charged themselves with the care of Wilkie's home in
Norton Street, where the eminent painter was pro-
ducing year by year the works on which his great
reputation will mainly rest. Mulready was his
fellow-student^ — sometimes his model, as in the
''Duncan Gray" — and so intimate as to be a constant
guest in Norton Street. Mrs. Wilkie's health began
to fail from the time of her arrival in London, and
she became at last so seriously ill that recovery
seemed almost hopeless. Mulready was constant in
sympathy with Wilkie's anxiety, calling most days to
make inquiry. Norton Street — now, I think, called
by another name — was then so quiet that study could
be pursued with comfort. Street-musicians found
no encouragement, and pretty generally tried their
fortune elsewhere. Great was Mulready's surprise
then, on entering the long street one afternoon, to hear
the distant sound of bagpipes. Strange, for not a
piper was to be seen ; and stranger still, the sound

13—2

196

THE ''COMING OF AGE."

grew louder and louder as Mulready approached
Wilkie's door, when it became evident that the per-
former was playing inside the house. Mulready
knocked, not without the fear that his knocking
might be drowned by the music, and Wilkie opened
the door. Speech was impossible, and Mulready
was taken into the parlour, where a Highlander was
playing for dear life. When the music ceased
Wilkie said: "Well, ye see the mother is not so
well to-day. She said she would like to hear the
music again, for she is aye fond of the pipes."

My second picture in the Exhibition of 1849 was
taken from " Don Quixote," and represented the
immortal Don at dinner with the Duke and
Duchess. Don Quixote's hesitation to yield to the
Duke's invitation to take the head of the table — a
position always offered to an honoured guest — drew
from Sancho a story which he thought appropriate
to the occasion.

" Then thus" (quoth Sancho), "both of them being
ready to sit down, the husbandman contended with
the gentleman not to sit uppermost, and he with the
other that he should, as meaning to command in his
own house ; but the husbandman, presuming to be
mannerly and courteous, never w^ould, till the gentle-
man, very moody, laying hands upon him, made him
sit down perforce, saying, ' Sit down, you thresher !
for wheresoe'er I sit, that shall be the table's end to
thee.' And now you have my tale ; and, truly, I
believe it was brought in here pretty well to the
purpose. Don Quixote's face was in a thousand

A PRINCELY PATRON.

197

colours, that jaspered on his brow." — Do7i Quixote ^
Part II., chap. xxxi.

This picture was a commission from Mr. Frederic
Huth, in whose house in Palace Gardens it still
remains, surrounded .by companions of great excel-
lence ; notably a magnificent Constable, an exquisite
Wilkie, and good pj^ctures by many of our best
painters.

It is always agreeable to be able to note instances
of liberality, as well as intelligent critical supervision,
during the execution of a w^ork; and in my commission
from Mr. Huth I experienced both. When I pro-
duced my sketch my employer asked me to name a
price for the picture that would be satisfactory to
me, and on my hesitating he named one himself,
much in excess of what I should have demanded.
To name a price for a picture before it is begun is
always difficult, and even dangerous, to one party
concerned or the other. Wilkie used to say, ''No
man can tell how a picture will turn out. You
should never name your price till your work is done ;
it may prove to be worth more than you imagined —
or less. It is just impossible to work up to a precise
sum. Besides, ye ought to be thinking of money as
litde as possible." I think I succeeded in some
respects very well in my "Quixote" picture;
the Sancho and the Chaplain being thought
successful, the Don less so, from the extreme — ■
almost insurmountable — difficulty of giving to his
figure the dignity that his appearance, the lank jaw
and attenuated form, are so apt to destroy ; and it is

198

THE "COMING OF AGE."

only in such hands as Leslie's that the difficulty dis-
appears. On the whole, my reputation was ad-
vanced by the exhibition of the two pictures.

It was about this time that I painted, in conjunc-
tion with my friend Ansdell, a picture called " The
Keeper's Daughter." The subject was simple enough
— a pretty girl feeding dogs in a Highland cottage —
Ansdell being responsible for the animals, I for the
figure and the rest of the picture. H. T. Ryall, to
whom w^e owed the commission for "The Keeper's
Daughter," was an engraver of the first rank ; his
finest work, perhaps, being a translation of Wilkie's
Columbus." The print from our joint performance
was successful, and the picture, having served its pur-
pose, was disposed of by its proprietor ; under what
circumstances I never knew. A few years after the
picture had disappeared, I was taken by a friend to

see a large collection belonging to a Mr. F , a

retired tanner, who had a mansion at Blackheath. 1

was warned that Mr. F had been the victim of

a certain dealer, from whom nearly all his pictures
had been bought at a cost of many thousand pounds,

and that some of them were spurious. Mr. F

received my friend and me with great politeness, and
before he showed us his collection, he so seriously
begged for our candid opinion as to give rise to the
idea in my mind that, from some cause or other,
doubts of the pictures' excellence or originality, or
both, had taken root in his mind. Every room was
filled with pictures, and the staircases were lined with
them. One of the first to be noticed was of an Italian

A CURIOUS COLLECTION.

199

boy, with hurdy-gurdy and white mice, in which the
hand of a member of the British Artists in Suffolk
Street was easily traced, and I named him.

Oh no !" said Mr. F ; that is by Eastlake,

your President, you know." Anything less like East-
lake's work it would be impossible to imagine. I
paid a large sum for that picture, because it is a
subject not often attempted by Eastlake."

The vilest daubs were shown us as genuine
Wilkies, Turners, VVebsters, etc. Two red herrings
hanging against a realistic deal-board were by
Turner ; a Holy Family by Webster, and so on ;
indeed, all the pictures were as curiously unlike, in
the subjects peculiar to each artist, as they were in
manner of production. After going through a series
of terrible examples of bad art, Mr. F said :

Now I will show you a picture by an unknown
painter ; I bought it in Wardour Street as a Land-
seer. Here it is; you shall judge for yourselves. I
know it is not a Landseer, and I think you will agree
with me that, great as Landseer is, he never equalled
my ' Daniel in the Lions' Den.' " So saying, our col-
lector uncovered a picture so vile as to make us
wonder that ignorance could be so great as to find

merit in such a thing. " There," said Mr. F ,

I think you will agree with me that Landseer never
painted such a picture as that."

I agree with you, sir," said my friend ; Land-
seer could not paint such a picture to save his life."
We saw many Landseers, every one spurious.

Now," said Mr. F , pointing to a mahogany

200

THE ''COMING OF AGE:'

box, I have here a Landseer which I only show to
particular friends." He unlocked the case, and lo !
my " Keeper's Daughter" ! " I gave twelve hundred
guineas for that, and I consider — I got it a bargain."

This was too much. Silence would have been
criminal.

Sir," said I, "you have been cheated ; that picture
is the joint production of myself and Mr. Ansdell."

" Oh, come now — you don't mean to say that !" in
accents of alarm.

Indeed, I must say it ; and, after much considera-
tion, I feel it to be a duty to tell you that scarcely a
picture in your house is painted by the artist whose
name is attached to it."

" Why, I have got a warranty with lots of them !"

''Get your money back then, if the law will give
it to you," said I.

Mr. F was silent for some moments ; he then

said :

"All the Landseers, do you say?"

" Yes," said I ; " all."
Do you think Mr. Landseer would come here.

and confirm that .^" said Mr. F .

I am sure he would ; and if you desire it, I will
speak to him immediately on the matter."

To end the story, Landseer went to Blackheath,
accompanied by his brother Charles, when he en-
dorsed our opinions, of course so far as his own
supposititious doings were concerned. But, after
all, there zuas a Landseer in the collection, in the
shape of an old lion, the size of life, which was used

IMPOSITION UNVEILED.

20I

as a chimney-board at Charles Landseer's house, and
painted by that artist, but elevated in the Blackheath
collection into a splendid position on the walls, with
the advantage of a superb frame and a curtain before

it. Mr. F had not confined his admiration for

art entirely to modern specimens. A few ancient pic-
tures, or what he thought such, had a room to them-
selves. Amongst the rest were three pictures — a
Quentin Matsys, a Vandyke, and a Wouvermans. It
cannot be denied that merit and originality in works
of art are matters of opinion, more or less valuable
according to the taste and knowledge of those who
are for the moment in the judgment-seat ; but it
sometimes happens that opinion may be backed up

by incontrovertible proofs. Mr. F 's Quentin

Matsys, for instance, contained several figures dressed
in the costume of George II., and as the great
Dutch painter lived some hundreds of years before
George II., the picture could not be his work. The
Vandyke represented Charles II. in about the fiftieth

year of his age. Mr. F produced documents

tracing the descent of the portrait from the time of
Vandyke, with the names of the noble owners whose
different collections it had adorned.

" I fear, sir," said I, "that I can prove to you that
it is impossible that Vandyke can have painted that
picture."

"Can you?" said Mr. F , who had become a

little irritable. " I should like to see you do it."

"You shall," said I. " Now tell me, how old does
Charles look in that picture ?"

202

THE "COMING OF AGE"

''How old!" said Mr. F ; ''what on earth

can that have to do with it ? How old ! well I should
say, pretty nearly fifty."

" Just so," said I. " Well, then, as Vandyke died
when Charles II. was twelve years old, he could not
have painted the King when he was fifty."

The Wouvermans was a bad modern copy of a
well-known picture in the National Gallery. Mr.

F assured us that all good judges considered

his picture the original, and that in the National
Collection a copy.

CHAPTER XVII.

SUBJECTS FROM GOLDSMITH, SMOLLETT, AND MOLlfeRE.

The Sheepshanks Collection, now at South Ken-
sington, was founded by one of a class of collectors
extinct at this time. Mr. Sheepshanks was a sleeping
partner in a cloth firm at Leeds. His London resi-
dence was at Rutland Gate, where, in a charming
gallery, the greater part of his collection was dis-
played. Like all people possessed of art treasures,
Mr. Sheepshanks was annoyed by the importunity
of strangers, whose requests to see his house and his
pictures were always refused, and not always in the
language of Lord Chesterfield. Being a bachelor,
and though in early life a very hospitable one, the ex-
pense of his household could not have been great, nor
could the prices of his pictures, for he told me that
he never possessed an income of more than fifteen
hundred a year, and out of that, to use his own
words, I have always paid my way, and paid for
my pictures too." Mr. Sheepshanks may, I think, be
considered to have been somewhat irascible. The
sight of a card — even if it bore the name of a friend
—offered by strangers as a ticket of admission, was

204 SUBJECTS FROM GOLDSMITH, SMOLLETT, ETC.

treated with contempt. I happened to be in the
gallery with him one day, when his servant presented

the Duchess of 's card, accompanied by that of

one of the most eminent R.A.'s.

" And there's a lot of ladies," said the girl.
Is Mr. naming the R.A., with them ?"

" No, sir."

Then tell them to go to the no, I don't mean

that. Say what you like. Pictures not shown.
Say anything, only don't let them in." He then
turned to me and said, " Now, would you believe it?
I've told that man a thousand times that I should be
delighted to see his friends, but he must come with
them. How do I know where people may pick up
other people's cards? He is as careless a fellow as
ever lived. He may drop his address-cards as likely
as lose other things, as he constantly does."

When in the humour Mr. Sheepshanks would
name the prices that his pictures had cost him. I
am afraid to trust to my memory for many instances ;
but I can well recollect the astonishment with which
I heard of the incredibly small sums for which he
had acquired some of the most wonderful of Land-
seer's works. One of the largest — "The Departure
of the Highland Drovers" — was a commission from
the Duke of Bedford for ^500. When the picture
was finished, the Duke said he was very poor, and if
Landseer could find another purchaser he (the noble
patron) would be glad to resign "so beautiful a
work." Another neglect of a good investment ; for
undoubtedly, if "The Departure of the Highland

MR. SHEEPSHANKS AND HIS PICTURES.

Drovers " were sold now, it would bring quite as
many thousands as the hundreds for which the Duke
might have purchased it. Mr. Sheepshanks always
chuckled when he told how, having heard of the
Duke's wish, he took immediate steps to gratify him.
The exquisite "Jack in Office," ''The Shepherd's
Chief Mourner," " The Tethered Ram," etc., were
all bought for ludicrously small prices ; and any ex-
clamation from a bystander to that effect was sure to
elicit from Mr. Sheepshanks a somewhat petulant
explanation : " Well, I always give what is asked
for a picture, or I don't buy it at all — never beat a
man down in my life. Never sold a picture, and I
never will ; and if what I hear of the prices that you
gentlemen are getting now is true, 1 can't pay them,
so my picture-buying days are over."

And over they were in 1850, w^hen I had the
honour of receiving Mr. Sheepshanks' last com-
mission, and the pleasure of executing it in the form
of the " Scene from Goldsmith's ' Good-natured
Man,' " now at the South Kensington Museum. As
this picture can be seen by anybody, I may be spared
the somewhat unpleasant task of talking about my
own work. The picture represents Mr. Honey wood
introducing the two bailiffs to Miss Richland (his
fiancde) as his friends, and vainly endeavouring to
make them conduct themselves as gentlemen. The
following is the dialogue, in Goldsmith's words :

HoNEYWOOD. Two of my very good friends,
Mr. Twitch and Mr. Flanigan. Pray, gentlemen,
•sit without ceremony."

2o6 SUBJECTS FROM GOLDSMITH, SMOLLETT, ETC.

Miss Richland. Who can these odd-looking
men be ? I fear it is as I was informed. It must
be so [aside).''

The year 1850 found me embarked on another
large composition — Hogarth before the Governor
of Calais." I forget in what book I found the anec-
dote of Hogarth's adventure at Cakiis, where he was
arrested as a spy in the act of sketching the Gate
at Calais " for the background of his famous picture
of that name ; but the truth of the arrest is well
established, for he has represented himself as
sketching the gate with the hand of a French
soldier touching his shoulder. He was taken before
the Governor, who informed him that "if peace had
not been signed between France and England a few
days previously, he would have been hanged on the
ramparts."

My diary for 1850 presents the usual record of
foggy days and disappointing models ; in short,
difficulties without number more or less successfully
battled with. As I could not have Hogarth to sit
for me, I had to keep a bright look-out for some one
resembling him. After much searching and delay I
found a suitable model, not unlike the great moralist
in body, but in mind as opposite as the poles. For
the French soldiers I was fortunate, for I discovered
two individuals whose political views were so much
at variance with the established Government at that
time in powder in France, as to necessitate a precipi-
tate flight from that country to this ; and whose faces
matched their principles and suited me exactly. 1

A LONG-LIVED FAMILY.

207

must acknowledge that they predicted pretty accu-
rately the career of Napoleon III., than whom
(according to them) no such villain ever existed.
"A Republic — no ! Monarchy — thousand thunders,
no ! A general division of property and begin again
— that, mpnsieur, is tl^e panacea, the only substantial
equality and fraternity." I painted the Governor's
clerk from an old man, who assured me that his
grandfather was at the execution of Charles I. He
made the matter clear to me at the time, but I have
since found a difficulty in working out the problem —
the old model was nearly ninety in 1850. He be-
longed to a very long-lived family, whose representa-
tives must have been remarkable in many ways, for
they were always born when their fathers were at
least eighty years old. Granting the truth of this,
it is just possible that a boy of ten (my model's
grandad) might have sat on his fathers shoulders,
so that he could look over the heads of the soldiers
who surrounded Charles's scaffold and have seen that
sovereign's obstinate head severed from his body. I
leave my readers to work out this little sum.

I have said elsewhere that Associates' pictures were
seldom if ever allowed to enter the Holy of Holies of
the Academicians — the " Large Room" in Trafalgar
Square. Before ''Hogarth" and ''Louis XVT. in
the Temple" — Ward's chef-cToeiivre — were hung in
that envied locality, I can only remember one
example to the contrary — Redgrave's Poor Gover-
ness." If the veteran R.A.'s could have heard the
ribald comments of some of the Associates on what

2o8 SUBJECTS FROM GOLDSMITH, SMOLLETT, ETC.

we called their dog-in-the-manger monopoly, how we
declared the ''Big Room" to be fast becoming a
hospital for incurables, some of us would have been
longer in becoming Academicians than we were. 1
can well remember my difficulty in keeping my
temper when I was told by one of the oldest and
most incompetent of the R.A.'s that a pretty storm
had been raised by my picture being most im-
properly" placed in the Large Room. "Hogarth"
was a commission from a Lancashire worthy, who
repudiated his order, and the picture was transferred
to a firm of publishers, by whom an engraving from
it was produced, without much success either as a
print or a publication.

Smollett's " Roderick Random" suggested one of
the best of my smaller productions : it was called
A Stage-coach Adventure," and represented the
interior of a lumbering vehicle that required threedays
to go from York to London, and w^as named The
York and London fast coach, the Highflyer." The
passengers represented were a Quaker and his family,
a British officer, and a lady with her daughter. One
great difficulty of the subject arose from the necessity
for removing one side of the coach, in order to show
the occupants, thus causing the coach to resemble too
much, perhaps, the interior of a small room. Through
the coach- window appeared the masked face of an
ugly highwayman, who, with pistol thrust forward,
made his usual demand. The Quakeress screams
and throws herself back in the coach ; the Quaker
hides his pocket-book under the cushions ; the

CRUIKSHANK AND THE HIGHWAYMAN.

209

mother of the young lady — the vis-d-vis of the
Quakeress — offers her purse to the robber ; and
the young lady falls fainting on to the shoulder of the
captain, who is paralyzed with fright. The motto
from Macbeth " which I quoted in the catalogue,
*'What! a soldier, aijid afeard !" seemed very appro-
priate.

Amongst my friendly critics on many occasions
was George Cruikshank, and it was on discussing
the Stage-coach Adventure " that he told me of
one of his own. When a little boy he was placed
at a school at Edgeware, and on one occasion, after
spending his Christmas holidays at home, he was
returning in a post-chaise in charge of his father,
when they were stopped by a highwayman.
Amongst other Christmas gifts which the boy was
taking to school was a long tin trumpet. Cruik-
shank's father, alarmed by the galloping of a horse,
had looked from the window of the chaise, and
pretty well assured himself of the character of the
rider ; he then turned to the boy and said : " Now,
George, the moment we are stopped you poke that
trumpet broad end out of the window. The boy
did as he was bid. The highwayman mistook the
trumpet for a blunderbuss, turned, and rode back as
rapidly as he had come. I have the illustrious
artist's word for what will appear to most people
incredible, namely, that this incident took place in
what is now called the Edgeware Road. I cannot
resist relating another adventure of Cruikshank's, for
the truth of which I think I can safely vouch. For

VOL. I. 14

2IO SUBJECTS FROM GOLDSMITH, SMOLLETT, ETC.

many years before his death Cruikshank was not
only " a total abstainer " himself, but a persistent
advocate of that principle by pen and pencil on all
occasions — in season and out of season. His
wonderful series of designs called '* The Bottle," and
his picture in the National Gallery called the
"Worship of Bacchus," are sufficient proofs of his
advocacy by the pencil. His many pamphlets speak
for his pen ; whilst his Exeter Hall speeches and
chair-taking have again and again proved the
sincerity of his convictions. It was very late one
night after attending a temperance meeting, that on
letting himself into his house in the Hampstead
Road, Cruikshank saw the figure of a man carrying
a bundle disappear through a door leading into his
garden. All the household were asleep. There
could be no doubt of the character of the man w4th
the bundle, who was clambering over the wall into the
neighbouring garden, when Cruikshank caught him
by the leg. The artist was a powerful man, which
the burglar soon discovered, as he resigned him-
self into the hands of his captor. Fortunately a
policeman happened to be passing the house ; the
thief was given into his charge, and the three walked
off towards the station. I have said that Cruikshank
not merely never /os^ an opportunity of enforcing
his principles, but he constantly 7;ia(/c one ; and on
the wiilk to the police station he lectured the burglar
somewhat as follows : Now, my friend, this is a
sad position to find yourself in. It's the drink, my
friend — the drink. Ah ! I can smell it. Now look

THE REAL AUTHOR OF ''OLIVER TWISTS 21 r

at me," pausing for a moment under a gas-light.

You see before you a man who for the last twenty
years has taken nothing to drink stronger than
water."

The burglar looked up at the artist and growled :
** I wish to God I had known that ; I would have

knocked your d d old head off !"

The fool thought I had weakened myself by
leaving off alcoholic drinks. The reverse — the very
reverse is the fact ; for let me tell you," etc., etc., etc.
And so dear old George would lecture as long — or
longer — than he could get a listener.

Cruikshank laboured under a strange delusion
regarding the works of Dickens and Ainsworth. I
heard him announce to a large company assembled
at dinner at Glasgow that he was the writer of
Oliver Twist." Dickens, he said, just gave parts
of it a little " literary touching up ;" but he, Cruik-
shank, supplied all the incidents as well as the illus-
trations. " Mind, sir," he said to me, 'T had nothing
to do with the ugly name Dickens would insist on
giving the boy. I wanted him called Frank Sted-
fast." He also wrote the " Tower of London,"
erroneously credited to Ainsworth, as well as other
works commonly understood to have been written
by that author. My intimacy with Cruikshank
enables me to declare that I do not believe he would
be guilty of the least deviation from truth, and to this
day I can see no way of accounting for what was a
most absurd delusion. Dickens was very fond of
Cruikshank, but he found him occasionally trouble-

14—2

212 SUBJECTS FROM GOLDSMITH, SMOLLETT, ETC.

some ; he would see, or fancy he saw, a resemblance
to an old lady friend of his in one of the characters
in "Chuzzlewit" or ''Nickleby," or some other of the
serials then in course of publication, when he would
say to Dickens, I say, look here : Mrs. So-and-so
has been to me about " — Mrs. Nickleby, perhaps —

and she says you are taking her off. I wish you
would just alter it a little ; the poor old girl is quite
distressed, you know," etc., etc. This Dickens told
me, and added : Just imagine what my life would
be if George was making the drawings for
' Dombey ' instead of Brown, who does what I wish
and never sees resemblances that don't exist !"

I now return with reluctance to my own doings.
I am indebted to lithography for three of the most
faithful transcripts that have been made from
pictures of mine. They are the work of an old
student friend, Maguire, whose life as a lithographer
was cut short by photography, a science. 1 suppose I
must call it, which bids fair, in the modern shape of
photogravure, to destroy line, and all other styles of
engraving, as effectually as it has put a stop to litho-
graphy. When Charles Landseer, who made better
puns than pictures, said of photography on its first
appearance that it was a foe-to-grapliic art, he little
thought how completely his prophecy would be
realized. I have suffered so dreadfully from trans-
lations of my pictures by photogravure, that I hold the
method in absolute abhorrence, though I admit that
I have seen satisfactory reproductions of other works
by this process.

LA BELLE MARQUISE,

213

My second subject from Moliere, also taken from
the Bourgeois Gentilhomme " (which, with the
banquet-scene from that play and Sir Roger
de Coverley and the Spectator," were those
referred to as so beautifully lithographed by
Maguire), represented the reception of the belle
Marquise and the Marquis Dorante by the Bour-
geois, previous to the banquet so inopportunely
interrupted by Madame Jourdain. He is shown
as going through his three bows ; and find-
ing himself after the second a little too near the
lady, he is saying, with back still bent : Un
peu plus loin pour la troisieme, madame." A
lacquey is at the door of the dining-room, through
which preparations for the banquet may be seen.
I received a hundred and sixty pounds for this
picture, but at what price it was acquired by Mr.
Newsham, of Preston, I have no means of knowing.
At the death of that gentleman the picture passed,
with the whole of his fine collection, into the posses-
sion of the Corporation of Preston, as a free gift to
the people of that town. At the South Kensington
Museum there are small copies of^the Moliere
pictures in the Jones Collection.

A beautiful girl, to whom I did but scant justice
in my picture from Moliere, was one of three
sisters who were all favourite models at that time.
The career of the prototype of the belle Marquise
was not a little singular. She disappeared from
artistic circles with the disregard — common to her
sisterhood — for the necessities of those who had relied

214 SUBJECTS FROM GOLDSMITH, SMOLLETT, ETC.

on being able to finish their work from the model
who had sat for its commencement. Inquiry was
fruitless. She had left her lodgings, and no trace
behind her. I found myself in the stalls of the
Hay market Theatre at one of the last appearances
of Macready, and in taking the usual indolent
survey of the dress-circle through an opera-glass, I
was stopped in the front row by the sight of a face
that I knew so well, and an eye that when it
caught mine indulged itself in something very like
a wink. Sure enough it was the belle Marquise ;
but instead of the homely cotton in which she was
formerly dressed, the latest and most extravagant
fashion had been called into play. Diamonds
glittered on neck, arms, and head — she was trans-
formed indeed. After a sidelong glance at a dis-
tinguished-looking middle-aged man at her side, the
Marquise bestowed a little nod and smile upon me,
and then resumed the aristocratic bearing that
became her admirably. I dare say I shall surprise
my readers when I tell them that the noble-looking
middle-aged man was indeed a nobleman who had
married our model. I discovered the name of the
bold aristocrat afterwards, and had the pleasure of

reading the name of Lady amongst those of

the happy people who were presented at Court.

In speaking of Macready, I am reminded that it
was about this time that great actor quitted the
stage. In the eeirly part of these pages I have said
that no such acting as Macready's King John and
Charles Kemble's Faulconbridge can be seen on the

MACREADY AND IRVING.

215

present stage ; and whilst maintaining that opinion
as regards a special play, and the remarkable com-
bination of genius in the representation of it, I must
not allow myself to forget that we have a tragedian
who, as an "all-round man," is a far greater actor
than Macready. In a few characters such as Vir-
ginius, William Tell, Rob Roy, and some others,
Macready was, I think, unapproachable ; but to
compare his Hamlet or Shylock with Irving's render-
ing of these characters would be disastrous for Mac-
ready. That Macready had multitudes of admirers
and "troops of friends" was manifested by the
attendance of about six hundred men who gathered
round him on the occasion of a banquet — inaugurated
chiefly by Dickens — given to him on his retirement
from the stage. The company was composed of
representatives, more or less eminent, of science,
literature, and art, to say nothing of numbers of
Macready-worshippers from various ranks of life.
In a letter to my mother, under date March, 1851,
I record my impressions in the following extract :

" I assisted, as the French say, at the Macready
banquet last night. A great many of my friends
were going, so I joined them. We had capital
places close to Bulwer Lytton — who was in the
chair — provided for us by Dickens, who had the
management of the affair. He made an admirable
speech ; Thackeray also spoke well and very humor-
ously. Macready, who speaks other people's words
much better than his own, made rather a halting busi-
ness of his oration. In returning thanks he said his

2i6 SUBJECTS FROM GOLDSMITH, SMOLLETT, ETC.

heart was fuller than the glass which he held — that
might easily have been the case, for the glass which
he held was empty ! I was close to Charles Kemble,
who spoke right well. I never saw such a sensation
as when he rose to reply to the drinking of his
health. I feel sure that most of the people there
thought that the Kemble line had passed away years
ago ; and when the old man rose, feeble and bent,
but with the old stately bearing, and in the sounding
and dignified, though somewhat shrill, voice peculiar
to the Kembles, responded most happily to the
toast, the 7V2u was deafening. Every man rose —
glasses, napkins, even decanters were shaken and
waved about ; the company seemed to have taken
leave of their senses.

My dinner cost me a guinea and a headache,
besides a fight, or nearly one, for my hat and
coat. Just fancy six hundred people all struggling
at the same time at a small table to get their hats
and go away. The waiters were all drunk, and
that happy condition w^as no assistance to them
in their efforts to distribute the hats to their
owners ; indeed, to judge from the maudlin way they
tumbled and reeled about, one might fancy that they
had been shipwrecked on a sea of hats and coats,
and were in despair of ever reaching dry land.
Every gentleman had been furnished with a ticket
or number for his hat, and if you can imagine three
or four hundred people screaming out different
numbers, and the tipsy waiters smiling at them, and
in the most soothing tones requesting them to have

A FIGHT FOR A HAT.

217

patience, you will understand what I had to go
through. As to Stone, the last I saw of him was
the upper part of his body ; he was clinging to a
pillar with one arm, and holding out his ticket with
the other, kicking at the same time with both legs
at the people behind him. Stone's treatment of his
fellow-guests was not agreeable to them ; there was
a terrific row, a few policemen made a dash into the
crowd — Stone disappeared ; I saw no more — and
thus endeth the Macready banquet."

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE HANGING COMMITTEE.

I NOW approach the time when the desire to repre-
sent everyday Hfe took an irresistible hold upon me.
My first venture in modern-life subjects took the
shape of a small picture of a mother and child. The
child was kneeling, saying its prayers in its mother's
lap, with the wandering attention so common to
children. The gray and black dress of the mother
and the white night-gown of the child made a suffi-
ciently agreeable arrangement of negative colours.
The heads were characteristic, though — as was after-
wards said in excuse for the failure as a publication — ■
too like portraits. The picture was beautifully en-
graved by Stocks ; but the finest engraving will not
avert failure if the subject represented does not
satisfy the many-headed, whose likings and dislikings
are equally incomprehensible. A little study, done
from a good-looking girl who was in my service as
housemaid, had a great success as an engraving. I
painted the girl not only in her habit as she lived,
but in her habits also, for she was carrying a tray
with a bottle of wine on it. The whole thing was

''SHERRY, SIR?'

simple enough. The picture was bought by Jacob
Bell, who — convinced that there was what he called
''copyright" in it — succeeded in extracting forty
guineas from a well-known publisher, who, differing
in opinion from Bell as to the value of the copyright,
immediately transferred it, at a great loss, to another
and more adventurous printseller. Bell presented
me with the copyright money, and 1 heard with
pleasure that the picture was plaged in the hands
of Frank Holl, afterwards A.R.A., an admirable
engraver and most worthy man. Holl produced
an excellent print from the little picture. I approved,
and it was published — after being, without my know-
ledge— christened Sherry, sir?" What a thorn in
my side did that terrible title become ! I dined out
frequently, and dreaded the approach of the servant
with the sherry, for the inevitable "Sherry, sir?"
rang in my ears, and reminded my neighbour at
table of my crime. A pretty thing enough that
servant girl of yours ; but how you could give her
such a vulgar title, I can't think." This was dinned
into my ears so frequently that I determined I would
try to get the obnoxious words changed into some
less objectionable. I went to the publisher, and
unburdened my mind. Change the title!" said he;

why, it's the name that sells it. We offered it before
it was christened, and nobody would look at it ; now
it sells like ripe cherries, and it's the title that does it."

Before devoting myself to more elaborate com-
positions from modern life, I determined to try to
realize a scene that had always struck me as ad-

220

THE HANGING COMMITTEE,

mirably adapted to pictorial representation, namely,
the quarrel of Pope and Lady Mary Wortley Mon-
tagu, or rather the cause of the quarrel, for it is
said that, in a moment of passion, Pope declared his
love for the beautiful Lady Mary, who received the
vows of the poet with astonishment that resolved
itself into irrepressible laughter.

By anyone acquainted with the character of Pope
■ — and who is not ? — the fearful blow that such treat-
ment would be to a man so sensitive, may be
imagined ; and the ample revenge he allowed himself
to take in after years, be somewhat excused. Ad-
mirers of Pope objected to the subject as placing
the poet in a humiliating position. Leslie, I re-
member, spoke to me strongly on that point ; but
the picture was done, and hanging on the Academy
walls, when the objectors opened fire ; so repentance,
which I confess I felt, came too late. The truth was,
I could not resist the dramatic effect of the two
figures — the consuming rage of Pope, contrasted by
the cruel laughter of the lady. My admiration and
respect for Pope should perhaps have prevented me
from exposing so great a man to ridicule and humi-
liation. Mea culpa ! mea ntlpa !

Of all the authorities, and they were many, that I
consulted for the likeness of Pope, the bust by
Roubillac is the only one that conveys the man :
there he is w^ith features worn by suffering, but
showing the intellectual strength that must have
distinguished such a man. The portrait by Jervas
in the National Collection, though interesting as

POPE AND LADY MARY.

221

giving a more or less correct rendering of the
"shape and make" of the man, conveys no idea to
my mind of his intellectual power. Reynolds said
that no man could put more into a picture than there
is in himself ; if that be so, there was not much
in Jervas, most of whose portraits are examples of
what I once heard a painter say of a likeness of a
strong-minded man : " The fellow," meaning his
brother artist, has made a likeness of So-and-so
certainly, but he has managed to knock out his
brains." There are many so-called likenesses of
Lady Mary, but they differ from each other nearly
as much as do those of her namesake the Queen of
Scots. In Mr. Gibbons's collection there is a beautiful
picture by Sir Joshua that is called Lady Mary ; but
I doubt if the dates will serve, for Sir Joshua could
scarcely have painted the beloved of Pope in the
prime of her loveliness. In Mr. Gibbons's picture the
original could not have exceeded her thirtieth year,
when Sir Joshua was a young and unknow^n man.

In my picture I fear I cannot claim much re-
semblance to the beautiful original, though my lady
is handsome enough to be the cause of love in Pope
or anybody else. An incident occurred in connection
with this picture that is worth recording, as showing
the way artists are sometimes treated by their — so-
called — patrons. A collector, of a somewhat vulgar
type, had long desired me to paint a picture for
him. I showed him the sketch, and to prove the
culture of the gentleman, I may mention the follow-
ing facts :

222

THE HANGING COMMITTEE.

What's the subject ?" said he.

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu and Pope," said
I ; " the point taken is when Pope makes love to the
lady, who was married at the time, and she laughed
at him."

" The Pope make love to a married woman —
horrible !"

" No, no, not ^/le Pope — Pope the poet!"

"Well, it don't matter who it was; he shouldn't
make love to a married woman, and she done quite
right in laughing at him ; and if I had been her
husband, 1 should " etc.

*' Very well," said I, "as you don't like the subject
we will say no more about it. I will paint you some-
thing else."

Oh no," was the reply; " I like to see a woman
laugh at a man who makes an ass of himself. Pll
take it. What's the figure?"

*' Before I name a price," said I, " I must tell you
that there is a condition attached to the picture
which must be agreed to by whoever takes it ; and
that is, that I may make a small copy of it for a
friend. So if you object to copies, as many people
do, now is the time to say so."

The exact size of the intended copy was fixed, the
condition and price, three hundred and fifty guineas,
agreed to ; and in due time the picture was finished
and highly approved by my learned friend, who, I
■discovered afterwards, had never read a line of Pope,
or indeed even heard of him.

When the Exhibition was closed, I wished to

ENLIGHTENED PATRONAGE.

223

begin the copy at once; but my ''patron" begged to
have the picture for a few days, as he wished to
show it to some ' country friends.' " I let it go, and
when I appHed for it according to agreement, the
jowner quietly defied me, and refused to carry out
.an arrangement to which he acknowledged he had
consented. He then proceeded, without consulting
me, to make terms with an engraver for the pro-
^duction of the picture in mezzotint — a process quite
unsuited to it — pocketing a hundred guineas for the
copyright. There are people so amiable as to
submit to insult, and even injury, without complain-
ing. I am not of that species, and my complaints
were loud enough to reach the ears of my employer,
who, to my surprise, made his appearance one
morning at my house. I froze him by my re-
ception, and declined to shake hands, to his great
^surprise.

I hear you are annoyed because I can't allow
you to copy my picture," he began.

" Did you, or did you not, consent to a copy being
made when you bought the picture?" said I.

" Well, certainly I did ; but all my friends say
that a copy, ever so small, would take away from
.the value of the original."

This was too much, so I tried to close the inter-
view by asking, in my loftiest manner and in stereo-
typed phrase, ''To what am I indebted for the honour"
.(honour with sarcasm) " of this visit ?"

" Well, look here " (I fear, he said " look 'ere"), I
.can't have a copy done ; but I'll tell you what — I will

224

THE HANGING COMMITTEE.

give you a hundred pounds, and you can divide it
with the gent you have to do the copy for, as a com-
pensation Hke for the copy."

My reply was conveyed without speaking ; for I
went to the door, opened it wide, pointed out to the

gentleman " the way he should go, and he went
out without another word. He died long ago. His
pictures were sold at Christie's, where " Pope and
Lady Mary " fetched twelve hundred guineas. No
wonder, when such instances as the above — seldom
so gross — can be multiplied by artists to any extent,
that they should prefer dealing with dealers who
understand art and artists, and can be legally bound
to carry out (in rare cases, when moral binding is-
not sufficient) their engagements to the letter. A
dealer, it should be remembered, has a variety of
tastes to satisfy. What does not please one client "
may please another ; but the patron " may have
a peculiar taste, or no taste at all, may be as full of
whims and fancies as he is of ignorance, and then
the life of the painter is not a happy one. For many
years I have always sold my pictures to what is called
the trade," and have invariably escaped the tribu-
lation that so often attends the patrons' patronage.

I will pass over many trifling pictures, which the
profane would call " pot-boilers ;" but though some few
may be open to that charge, I may speak of two that
received as much careful study at my hands as any-
thing that ever passed through them. Both were taken
from Scott, one from the "Bride of Lammermoor,"
the other from " Kenil worth." They were painted

A CLEVER COPY.

225

for a man who was another disappointing specimen
of the patron — a grumbHng ignoramus who could
not see the faults that really existed, but discovered
plenty of his own making. He grumbled during
the progress of the pictures, and grumbled when
they were finished ; and when he sold them — as he
did very shortly — for a great deal more than he had
paid for them, he grumbled because he had not got
enough. These pictures are now in the possession
of a man who appreciates them beyond their merits.
Before they reached their present owner, Mr.
Price — whose gallery in Queen Anne Street is filled
with pictures, and frequently on Monday evenings
with artists, who find the heartiest welcome and the
best cigars, etc., always awaiting them — the pictures
in question had passed through many hands, some
clean and some very dirty, as I shall proceed to show.
The scene from the " Bride of Lammermoor " is that
in which Lady Ashton cuts the love-token from
Lucy's neck and gives it back to Ravenswood. It
happened that the day after spending a very
pleasant Monday evening in Queen Anne Street, I
noticed, in Christie and Manson's usual Tuesday's
advertisement, that a picture by me from the
" Bride of Lammermoor " was to be sold. As I had
then painted but one picture from that novel — and
that one I had seen hanging in Queen Anne Street
the night before — I was puzzled by the advertise-
ment, and determined to see what the meaning of it
was. What was my surprise to see on Christie's
walls a facsimile of Mr. Price's picture, or else the
VOL. I. 15

226

THE HANGING COMMITTEE.

picture itself. Doubt as to which it was, was put a
stop to by Mr. Price himself, who looked at the
picture with a puzzled air, and then looked at me
without any change in his expression.

"Well," said I, ''what on earth does this mean?
I never made a copy of the picture — not even a
sketch of it."

" Somebody has made a copy of it," said Mr.
Price ; must have been done on its way to me by
one of those rascally dealers, and sold as the
original. Whose property is it ?"

I found from Christie's the readiness always
shown to remove from their walls whatever may
have got there under false pretences ; and the
name of the owner of the spurious picture was
disclosed. I need only allude to this gentleman
to say that he was quite innocent of fraud ; he was
assured the picture was painted by me, and so
perfect was the copy, even to the name forged
upon it, that I should not have doubted its authen-
ticity for a moment, if I had not had such con-
vincing proof to the contrary. I requested to be
allowed to destroy the copy, so as to prevent its
betraying more men ;" but the owner objected, as
the forgery w^as required to enable the victim to
make the man from whom it was bought refund the
purchase-money.

Since the attempted sale at Christie's, I have
found it necessary to repudiate the copy twice. I
suppose no man's works have been more frequently
pirated than those of the eminent French painter,

FORGED PICTURES.

227

Meissonier. I am told that there is a cupboard in
that artist's studio for the reception of such things ;
and when any fraudulent specimen is brought
to that great painter for authentication, it is,
in defiance of all opposition, consigned to the cup-
board, and the key turned upon it. Whether
French law would sanction such proceedings I know
not ; but I sincerely wish it were as legal in this
country to destroy forged pictures as it is to burn
forged bills.

Another instance occurs to me. Some two or
three years ago, I received a letter from a person
whose name I forget, telling me that he had a
picture — naming the size — of the Coming of Age."
From the dimensions I knew it must be a copy, and
as I had made one small copy, as nearly as I could
remember, about the size named, I thought it likely
the one inquired about might be my work. In the
letter the writer said he had no doubt of the
originality of the picture ; and added that the
''colouring was as fine as Titian but a stupid friend
having expressed a doubt, he would be obliged, etc.,
etc. In my reply I said that if he chose to be
at the trouble and expense of sending the picture
to London, I would solve his friend's doubts ; but
that if the '' colouring was equal to Titian," he might
save himself the trouble of submitting it to me, as it
most certainly could not be my work. The picture
arrived, and I found it to be a vile daub smeared
over an engraving from the original, in which the
painter had followed his fancy in inventing a scheme

15—2

228

THE HANGING COMMITTEE.

of colour quite unlike the picture, and still more
unlike Titian.

Five-and-twenty years ago the elections at the
Royal Academy took place twice a year. Vacancies
in the Associate list were filled up in November,
Academicians were elected in February ; and it was
further enacted that the death of an R.A. must have
taken place three clear months before the loth of
February, or in default, the vacancy could not be
filled till February in the following year. Turner
lingered for two or three weeks into the prescribed
three months. I had to wait, therefore, nearly fifteen
months for my promotion ; thus serving — as Jacob
did for Rachel — seven years for my hardly-earned
honour. ! am glad to say that the Academy " has
changed all that," as well as other fossilized rules as
much requiring abolishment. A newly-elected R.A.
finds himself also elected into offices for the duties
of which he may, or may not, be competent. He
becomes a teacher in the* Life and Painting Schools;
he is at once placed upon the Council, and finds
himself a member of the dreaded Hanging Com-
mittee. It is well known that some of our best
painters are the worst teachers. Landseer used to
say, There is nothing to teach." I heard one of the
most eminent Academicians say — in answer to re-
proaches for his neglect in not attending at the
Painting School — ''What w^ould be the good .-^ I
don't know anything ; and if I did, I couldn't com-
municate it." Maclise said to me, when as a student
I was copying a picture by Reynolds, " I can't

BROTHERLY FEELING.

229

teach you anything. I am here to take a lesson
myself."

It certainly appears to me that the system of what
is called teaching by visitors is altogether wrong ; as,
from the varied and often contradictory character of
the advice tendered, the student finds himself in a
condition of helpless bewilderment.

In the days of which I am writing, the Hanging
Committee was composed of three men, whose
duties consisted in cramming into the small rooms in
Trafalgar Square as many pictures as they would
hold, totally, indeed necessarily, regardless whether
any of them could be seen without telescopes or not.
The amiable feeling that exists between Scotchmen,
whether they are strangers to each other or not, is
pretty universally acknowledged ; but should there be
a sceptic on the subject, a glance at the Academy walls
when a Scotchman happens to be one of the hangers,
will dispel his doubts, unless, as happened in one
memorable instance, the brotherly feeling is indulged
to such a degree as to be an injury to those who were
not so fortunate as to have been born north of the
Tweed. David Roberts, a thoroughly kind-hearted
Scotchman, being newly elected, was placed on the
Hanging Committee — his brother hangmen being
Mulready and Abraham Cooper. The arrange-
ment of the pictures had proceeded harmoniously
enough, the Englishmen only finding it necessary
now and then to moderate the enthusiasm of their
fellow-hangman in favour of some w^ork that had

230

THE HANGING COMMITTEE.

little to recommend it beyond the fact that it was
done by Mac Somebody, when luncheon-time arrived.
Roberts was not hungry, could not eat luncheon.
Mulready and Cooper must have been exceptionally
so, for they were an unusually long time away from
the rooms. In the interval, Roberts, with the assist-
ance of the carpenters, had emulated the busy bee,
the result being a goodly array of Scottish pictures
in all the best places.

Good gracious, Roberts!" said Cooper. *'Why,
you have turned this room into Scotland Yard."
Mulready beckoned to the carpenters, and said :

Take all these pictures down again."
Roberts remonstrated.

Said Mulready : " Friendship is noble ; but when
it is indulged to the injury of others, all the nobility
goes to the winds. Take them every one down."

''Then," said Roberts, ''if I am to be treated in
this way, and my judgment disputed, I may as well
go home."

'' Much better," was the reply, and home Roberts
went.

The two men were members of the Academy for
more than thirty years after this little dispute, and I
grieve to say they never spoke to each other again.
Exceptions prove the rule, for I hereby declare that
quarrels amongst us are almost unknown. Differences
of opinion exist, as in all communities ; but serious
quarrels, never. Stay — there is one more remark-
able exception. About five-and-forty years ago,
there lived an Academician whose son was also

"/I GOOD HATER:' 231

an artist, but of moderate ability. He was a
constant exhibitor, and, in the estimation of his
father, well worthy of the rank of Associate. For-
tunately that opinion was only shared by a few
intimate friends of the R.A., who at election-
time never mustered in sufficient streno^th to
enable them to perpetrate a wrong. Amongst the
intimates of the veteran Academician was one who,
I believe, never permitted any feeling but the con-
viction of desert to influence his vote. On the eve

of an election, sumptuous dinners were given in

Place, at which the candid friend always assisted.
After a final defeat — for the young man died soon
after — the man I call the candid one paid a visit to
the old R.A. He was received with great coldness,
and almost immediately the momentous question
was put :

Did you vote for my son, sir, last Tuesday night
That," said the candid friend, is a question no
one has the right to ask."

There is the door, sir, and I beg you w^ill never
darken it again."

Many years afterwards the veteran Academician,
though scarcely able to walk, was determined to see
the new gallery at Burlington House on the occasion
of our first occupation in 1869. I was talking to the
candid friend as the old man was supported to a seat
in the large gallery during the private view.

''Why, there is old !" said I. ''If you ever

intend to be friends with him again — ^judging from
his appearance — you haven't much time to lose."

232

THE HANGING COMMITTEE.

Poor old boy!" said Mr. Candid; I have a great
mind to go and speak to him."

" Do," said I ; ''he will be pleased."

I watched the interview — it was very short. When
his old friend spoke to the ancient R.A., he started
and looked up, muttered something, then his head
sank on his breast after the manner of the
aged.

'' Well," said I, when the candid one rejoined me,
what did he say ?"

"He looked me straight in the face, and after
hearing a pretty speech I made him, he said, ' I
don't know you, sir.' By Jove ! what a good hater
he is ! It's nearly twenty years since he showed me
the door, because I had done my duty."

It may interest my readers to know of the great
care taken by the Council of the Academy to pre-
vent any communication respecting the Exhibition
arrangements to the outside world — notably to would-
be exhibitors. New members of Council are informed
that they must never "breathe a syllable" to a living
being about the places of any of the pictures, until
the whole of the Exhibition is arranged.

May I not tell a friend that his picture is on the
line said I, in subdued tones, to one of the Council,
after Sir Charles Eastlake had solemnly admonished
the new Councillors, of whom I was one.

Angels and ministers of grace defend us — no !
and don't you see why ? Your friend's picture may
be on the line one minute, and off it the next. I
have known instances of pictures changing places

ACADEMY RULES.

^33

twenty times. No work of an outsider is safe in its
place till the varnishing-days ; wait till then to tell
your friend his fate."

After cautioning the R.A.'s, the servants, carpen-
ters, etc., engaged to place the pictures on the walls,
and the sculpture in its '*den" — as the Trafalgar
Square Sculpture Gallery was called — were sent for ;
when they stood before us, in what seemed to me
great number, the President informed them that the
breaking of the silence enjoined upon members and
servants alike, by the faintest whisper, would cause
the delinquent's instant dismissal.

I am referring to my first experience.

As picture after picture was brought before us
by the long line of carpenters, the novelty of the
occupation interested and amused me — for the
first few hours. Then came a bewildering and
weary time ; being only human, we were tired —
at least I was. But I can truly say I never allowed
a picture to pass me without giving it the attention
it merited and sometimes much more. As I have
said elsewhere, I have served many times on the
Council, and on the arranging Committee; and I have
never known of a charge of dishonesty, in any
shape, being substantiated against the " carpenters,"
who necessarily become acquainted with all the works
offered for exhibition, and very likely, in some
instances, with their producers. I have often
thought that the temptation to the servants to accept
bribes from outsiders must be very great. I can
imagine — and should scarcely condemn — an ''out-

234

THE HAXGING COMMITTEE.

sider" who might seek out one of the carpenters,
and say to him, Look here, you know my little
picture ; whenever you see the hangers searching for a
picture to fill a place — a good place, you know — keep
mine before them ; and here is so much for you.'' Ah,
my dear young outsider, we know that little game so
well ! I discovered it during my first hanging-days.
To make the manoeuvre clear to my reader, I must
ask him to imagine long rows of pictures stacked
together in each room, some with their faces exposed,
some — most, indeed — showing only their innocent
backs. One of the Committee was lookino^ for a
picture to fill a vacant place, when his attention was
attracted to a carpenter who offered a picture with
the words, I think this is about the size, sir." My
friend looked at it for an instant, passed his measur-
ing rod over it, and walked away. I thought little
of this incident. The hanging proceeded, and the
walls of the large room being nearly covered, we
thought it well to begin upon room No. 2. Our
work had not progressed much ; the line-side of one
portion of the room being filled up to a small place
in one corner, when, as if by magic, the carpenter s
protege appeared just beneath it, mutely offering
itself for acceptance. Hallo !" said the hangman,
where has this come from ? it was in the other room
just now. Stop, let me look at it ; it's pretty good,
isn't it ? Not quite up to the place, perhaps.
Measure it, Frith. Too big, is it 1 Here, take this
picture away." Failure number two.

Suspicion began to dawn upon me, being, I

PERSEVERANCE REWARDED.

235

suppose, of a more suspicious turn than the others,
who suspected nothing ; not even when the persever-
ing Httle picture followed us from room to room, and
was at last hung toget rid of it," on the same principle
as that which influenced the well-known lady when she
married her six times rejected lover to get rid of him.
I have always prided myself, foolishly perhaps, on my
power of detecting the emotions of the mind in the
human face — even when a mask is placed upon it.
If the carpenter had a mask, he did not use it, for I
watched him when his charge was at last favourably
disposed of ; and if I had any doubt about the nature
of the interest he took in it, his satisfied expression
dispelled it.

Feeling that my evil imagination might have run
away with me, and that after all the affair might be one
of pure accident, I said nothing ; but in after years,
when precisely similar " accidents " took place under
my eyes again and again, I could no longer persuade
myself that outside influence was not occasionally
brought to bear upon our excellent staff of carpen-
ters."

CHAPTER XIX.

HANGING REMINISCENCES.

Whilst on the subject of my hanging reminiscences,
I may further note the loving feeHng existing between

all of Scottish race. A Mr. Mac , a Scotch artist

of considerable merit, and a fruitless seeker after
Academic honours, was, it is needless to say, a friend
of Wilkie's ; of whom it is reported that on one of the
hanging-days he, of course being one of the Com-
mittee, was seen w^andering about the rooms carry-
ing a small picture, and vainly endeavouring to fit it
into a good place.

"Why, Wilkie," said a brother hangman, "what
makes you take so much trouble about that picture

of Green's ? it's not a partic "

Green !" exclaimed Wilkie ; "I thought it was

Mac 's," and incontinently left the picture to its

f^ite.

The interest Wilkie took in Mac extended to

his using all his influence by word and vote at
election-time, and as it sometimes happens when the
merits of prominent candidates are supposed to be
pretty equal, names are mentioned and merits can-

CONSTABLE AND THE COUNCIL.

237

vassed, in those moments of hesitation Wilkie would

always exclaim, "Well, there's Mac ." This

recommendation, so frequently repeated, was stopped

at last by Mulready's loud exclamation, " D n

Mac !" Beyond such small, and nearly always

unsuccessful, attempts at nepotism, proceedings in
respect of the selection and arrangement of the
yearly Exhibition are carried out with absolute
impartiality. Instead of the haste and carelessness
with which the Council for selection is so often
ignorantly charged, the most scrupulous care is
taken in the examination of each picture, as it is
carried by an assistant past every member of the
Council. Whether if the works of all the R.A.'s
and A.R.A.'s were submitted to the judgment of the
Council — as outsiders are — they would all be admitted,
is not open to question, for I am a witness to the
contrary. When Constable was a member of the
selecting Council, a small landscape was brought to
judgment ; it was not received with favour. The
first judge said, That's a poor thing ;" the next
muttered, It's very green ;" in short, the picture
had to stand the fire of animadversion from every
body but Constable, the last remark being, " It's
devilish bad — cross it." Constable rose, took a
couple of steps in front, turned round, and faced the
Council.

*'That picture," said he, *'was painted by me. I
had a notion that some of you didn't like my work,
and this is a pretty convincing proof I am very
much obliged to you," making a low bow.

238

HANGING REMINISCENCES.

Dear, dear!" said the President to the head-car-
penter, " how came that picture amongst the out-
siders ? Bring it back ; it must be admitted, of
course."

''No! it must not!" said Constable; "out it
goes !" and, in spite of apology and entreaty, out it
went.

This story was told me by Cooper, who witnessed
the scene. One more example, in which I played a
part. The hanging was over, the whole Exhibition
arranged, and the members admitted to varnish or
touch up their pictures. I was in the Large Room
in Trafalgar Square, when I saw an Academician
evidently searching for a picture, and unable to find
it. Thinking, as frequently happens, that he was
looking for the work of some outside friend, I
said :

"Whose picture are you in search of? as I have
helped to arrange the Exhibition, perhaps I can
assist you."

" I am looking for my own," said he.

" What was your subject ?"

" ' Lear and Cordelia.' "

My heart sank. I had a clear recollection of a
washy-looking Cordelia, and a Lear with all the
characteristics of a street beggar, that had met its
fate at the hands of the Council with deserved
rapidity, for it "went out like a shot," not a soul
having the least idea who its author might have been.
The unlucky picture was found amongst the rejected,
and the carpenters were warned that another such

A DELICATE DUTY.

239

instance of carelessness would lead to the discharge
of the whole of them. I must add that the picture
went the way of the unfortunate, and never appeared
upon the Academy walls. Very few, indeed, are the
examples of painters' powers remaining unshaken by
time. If, as Shakespeare says, "time cannot wither
(certain things), nor custom stale their infinite variety,"
the observation w^ill not apply to my profession ; and
one of the knottiest problems left for Academic
solution at the present time is that of reconciling
prescriptive rights with the interests of art, and the in-
terests of the painters themselves. Everybody knows
the story of Gil Bias and the Bishop of Granada.
Nature kindly, or unkindly, hides from a man the
knowledge of his failing powers. How often do I
hear old painters say, on showing a mere ''shadow
of a shade" of former power: "There, I mean to
say I never painted a better picture in my life than
that !"

I have no doubt I shall soon be using similar
language, and when I do, I hope I shall find a
friend to act the part of Gil Bias for me, when
I promise not to imitate the Bishop of Granada.
Few members of the Academy have served as
often on the Hanging Committee as the writer of
these lines ; and it has happened to me on one
or two occasions, on agreement with my brother
hangers, to have to represent to the Council the
necessity of asking a member to withdraw from
Exhibition a work which we thought unworthy of
his fame. In each case the request was gi^atefiilly

240

HANGING REMINISCENCES.

agreed to, and the work withdrawn. But on one
occasion we had to deal with two specimens of in-
capacity from the hands of a very old member, whose
portraits, ages before, had been justly considered
ornaments of the Exhibitions. One of these delect-
able productions was a portrait of a clergyman, the
other a picture called "Charity." The divine was
not so desperately bad as to necessitate his expulsion,
if one peculiarity could in any way be dealt with.
He was supposed to be preaching with appropriate
earnestness ; and his eagerness to convert had af-
fected his eyes in a remarkable manner : they were
exactly like those of an owl ; the eye-balls were in-
tensely black, with a circle of light bright blue
encompassing them round about. We tried him on
the wall, but distance lent increased terror to his ex-
pression ; he glared at us so fearfully, that in regard to
the consequences that might arise to unwary visitors,
we hastily took him down again.

" Now," said I to a brother hangman, "what is to
be done ? It is no use asking the old man to with-
draw either of these pictures — he won't."

" No/' replied my friend ; but I think we might
take some of the enthusiasm out of those eyes."

No sooner said than done. A finger was wetted,
a little blacking taken from my friend's shoe ; the
bright blue circle received a glaze of blacking, and
the glare of terror-inspiring fury was changed into a
softened appealing expression, as likely, perhaps, to
prevail with an obstinate sinner as the more denun-
ciatory form of admonition. With that little change

TRUE CHARITY.

241

the picture took its place among the rest. The
second performance, Charity," had then to be con-
sidered. A figure which, after long examination, we
agreed to be intended for a monk, was represented
standing — no, falling — against a rickety door — the
door of a monastery, if a black object with square
patches for windows could be accepted for such a
buildinof. The monk's head was enormous ; the
artist, with the originality of genius, had defied
nature to the extent of placing the features in the
monstrous face out of their usual positions ; one eye
had strayed into the forehead ; there was no mouth
that we could discover — considered useless, perhaps,
as the monk may have belonged to a monastic order
in which abstinence from food was enjoined ; the
rio^ht hand, holdinor what was more like a huo^e muffin
than anything else, was attached to an arm longer
than that of Rob Roy, who was supposed to be able
to garter below the knee without stooping. And the
crowd of beo^rars surroundino^ the charitable monk !
No words of mine could do justice to deformity
which Nature in her wildest freaks had never equalled.
The three hangmen, with their long measuring-rods,
looking like the three witches in Macbeth," stood
staring at the painful example of the incapacity of
age, till one broke silence and said : Blacking is of

no use here. What shall we do .'^ Old told

So-and-so that 'Charity' is the best thing he ever
did. He won't withdraw it if the forty of us w^ent
down on our knees and prayed to him."

After a pause I said : If you two will stand by
VOL. I. 16

242

HANGING REMINISCENCES.

me — as oldest member I shall surely be pitched into
— we won't say a word, but just leave ' Charity ' out
in the cold."

This was agreed to ; the picture was returned
to him who made it, and we never heard a word of
complaint. I think I have said enough to prove that
a change in the laws of the Academy is required to
enable a properly constructed tribunal to deal with
such cases as I have described ; cases which are by
no means confined to the productions of the aged
members of the body, but — either from carelessness
or incompetence, or both — are as often found existing
amongst the younger men; who occasionally display
pictures which, had they been subjected to the judg-
ment of the Council, would assuredly have been con-
demned.

CHAPTER XX.

RAMSGATE SANDS."

My summer holiday of 1851 was spent at Rams-
gate. Weary of costume-painting, I had determined
to try my hand on modern Hfe, with all its drawbacks
of unpicturesque dress. The variety of character on
Ramsgate Sands attracted me — all sorts and condi-
tions of men and women were there. Pretty groups
of ladies were to be found, reading, idling, working,
and unconsciously forming themselves into very
paintable compositions. Under date Sept. 4, my
diary says, amongst other entries : " On the sands
sketching." ''Sept. 10, sketching on sands till one."
Each day, up to the 14th, I find occupied in making
slight drawings of details, and on the 14th the diary
says : Made pencil-drawing of Ramsgate Sands. I
wonder if I shall make anything of it — who knows
The interpretation of this being that the different
groups taken from nature were arranged to form the
composition as it appeared afterwards in the com-
pleted work. The pencil-drawing was but preli-
minary to a very careful oil-sketch, in which colour,
light and shade, and to some extent character, were

16 — 2

244

''RA MSG ATE SANDS/'

determined. So novel was the attempt to deal with
modern life, that I felt it to be very necessary to be
able to show to those whose advice I valued, the
clearest possible indication of my new venture.
When the oil-study was finished I called in the
critics ; but before I speak of their divergence of
opinion I may give some extracts from my diary
describing the progress of the oil-sketch:

''Sept. 30. — Began idly to miake a sketch from
Ramsgate Sands, which, if successful, will consider^
ably alter my practice."

Oct. 2. — An idle sort of day, thinking, and ar-
ranging for ' Ramsgate Sands.' "

Oct. 3. — Finished outline of 'Sands,' an extensive
business ; out early to Great Exhibition.

''Oct. 21. — Began to paint in sketch of 'Rams-
gate Sands did one group."

" Oct. 22. — Again at work ; did another group."
Oct. 24. — Again at sketch of ' Ramsgate Sands;'
progressing with it."

" Oct. 25. — Finished group of girls reading, and a
man selling toys."

" Oct. 28, 29. — ' Ramsgate Sands worked, but
did little good."

"Nov. I. — Worked all day on ' Ramsgate Sands;'
fear I am spending more time on it than it is
worth."

A^ov. 3. — Sketched the widow and her friends."
"Nov. 4. — The green lover and over principal
group.''

Nov. 8. — Sea-shore and ficrures."

FRIDAY NOT ALWAYS UNLUCKY.

245

''Nov. II. — All day on background of 'Sands;'
fear it will not do. Disagreeable at present."

''Nov. 13. — Again on background of 'Sands;'
linished it ; like it much better."

"Nov. 14. — Finished sketch."

" Nov. 1 5. — Ward saw sketch and seemed struck
with it."

The importance, real or fancied, of a serious un-
dertaking must be my excuse for inflicting these
extracts upon the reader; they may show to the
student the necessity for careful preparation before a
large composition of figures is attempted. Ward and
Egg were the first artists to whom I submitted my
sketch. Ward approved, and I find by my diary
•'that Egg saw * Ramsgate Sands,' and strongly
advised me to paint a large picture from it." Mr.
Birt — who may be remembered as the purchaser of
the "Gleaner" — bought the sketch subject to its being
more finished. The subsequent history of this trans-
action may serve as another example of the whims of
the "patron." Under date of March 13, 1852, I find
by my diary that " Webster, R.A., called, and seemed
greatly pleased with picture of ' Pope and Lady Mary'"
(then on the eve of finish), " and especially with
the sketch of 'Ramsgate Sands.' He said he wished
I was going to paint the subject for him." On Good
Friday, the 9th April, the picture of the "Sands" was
begun, and on Friday, the 7th May, the first touch
of paint was put upon it. As the picture was event-
ually very successful, the superstition in respect of
Friday may be disposed of in this instance. Most

246

''R A MSG ATE SANDS."

critics approved of the subject, but there were several
non-contents. One man, an artist, said it was Hke
Greenwich fair without the fun ;" another, that it was
a piece of vulgar Cockney business unworthy of
being represented even in an illustrated paper."
My non-artist friends were one and all against it ;
one said, The interest, which he could not dis-
cover, could only be local ;" and an Academician,
on hearing of it, said to a friend of mine, Doing
the people disporting on the sands at Ramsgate, is
he ? Well, thank goodness, I didn't vote for him !
I never could see much in his pictures ; but I didn't
think he would descend to such a Cockney business
as that you describe. This comes of electing these
young fellows too hastily."

With certain interruptions by portraits and small
pictures, the ''Sands" went steadily on. The summer
of 1852 found me again at Ramsgate, mainly for the
purpose of painting the background, which I wished
to make locally accurate. Photography was in its
infancy at that time ; I had therefore to rely on my
own drawings of houses, cHffs, and bathing-machines ;
for though photography, or, as it was then called,
Talbotyping, was tried, the result was useless. The sea
troubled me greatly, as the following extract shows :

''Sept. 6. — At work at the sea, and perfectly at
sea I found myself ; for I could no more paint it than
I could fly to the moon."

Then came doubts thus expressed :
Sept. II. — Clock tower, obelisk, and hotel. Will
all this repay me in any way ? I doubt it !"

THE DIPLOMA PICTURE.

247

Sept. 27. — Leech called and said picture would
be ' a great hit/ Who can tell ?"

By the end of the month I was back in London,
and at work pretty constantly on the picture on
which I felt so much to depend. It was towards the
close of the year that I became convinced that much
more time was required for finishing properly than
thatat my disposal before the Exhibition of 1853. I
may close the year with another extract from my
diary :

''Dec. 31. — Skirt of pink girl; worked slowly.
To a dance at Charles Dickens's. Talfourd proposed
Dickens's health ; a merry party. Left them dancing
at two o'clock ; and so ends the year '52."

Though all hope of completing my picture satis-
factorily was abandoned : I find I worked as steadily
at it as dark weather, the model difficulty, and
other hindrances would permit, until my election
as an Academician in February, 1853. Newly-
elected members are expected, indeed compelled,
to present a specimen of their work gratuitously to
the Institution; and any such work must be sub-
mitted to the Council and approved by them,
before the new member can receive his diploma.
The result of the regulation may be seen in the
Diploma Gallery at Burlington House ; where,
though there are admirable examples of some of
the elect, there are others which, being 7insaleable,
have been given to the Academy. I cannot say
that my diploma picture was unsaleable, because I
found purchasers ready to take it; but I should be

248

''RA MSG ATE SANDS."

sorry to stake anybody's reputation upon it, if it were
much belter than it is. The origin of the subject
may amuse. Being in the habit of keeping my eyes
pretty well open as I walked along the streets, they
were one day gratified by the sight of an orange-girl
of a rare type of rustic beauty. Her smile as she
ofifered her oranges was very bewitching, and had
no doubt assisted her in creating a taste for oranges
on many occasions. I became a large purchaser,
and succeeded, after much trouble, in getting her to
promise to sit for me, provided I would go to her
confessor (she was Irish and a Catholic), and
get his consent. A young Catholic friend was
staying with me at the time, and he readily con-
sented to intercede with the priest. That gentleman,
suspicious of my friend, gave him a very cool recep-
tion, and a flat refusal to sanction his application.
For some time the girl was obdurate, but at last, as she
could not get the priest's permission, she consented
to sit without it. I determined to paint a laughing
face from her — under the most favourable conditions
a most difficult thing to do, but in her case hopeless,
unless I could have induced her to go on for two
hours selling imaginary oranges to phantom pur-
chasers. I could not find anything to talk about
that would amuse her, and she could not talk to me.
In one of my attempts at conversation, I asked her
if she was not sometimes annoyed by the soldiers
and street-loafers that frequented Albany Street,
where she usually stood to sell her fruit. Her ex-
perience of life v/as summed up in a few words.

''THE SLEEPY MODEL:

249

" Yes, sometimes she was bothered ; but it was by
swells. Gentlemen," she said, ''is much greater
blackguards than what blackguards is."

After many attempts to rouse an expression that
would help me to make a laughing face, I found the
worst of hindrances that can afflict a painter come
upon me — my model fell fast asleep ; and as nothing
that I could say or do would keep her awake, I
abandoned the laughing subject and painted The
Sleepy Model," who now sleeps all day long in the
Diploma Gallery. By showing a laughing face
sketched on the canvas before which a perplexed
artist stands, and the model, who ought to assist
him in realizing the expression, fast asleep, 1 thought
I should prove in a small way one of the difficulties
that beset all artists — to say nothing of the situation
which has its comic side. The picture was not
exhibited in the annual show, it was reserved for a
more cruel destiny in the Diploma Gallery — that of
being always exhibited amongst many better, and a
few worse, than The Sleepy Model."

The greater part of the year 1853 was devoted to
the "Sands" picture, delays taking place at intervals
from the difficulty of finding suitable models. I
noticed an incident of pretty frequent occurrence,
which I determined to introduce into the background
of my picture. A couple of men were joint pro-
prietors of a happy family," consisting of cats and
mice, dogs and rabbits, and other creatures whose
natural instincts had been extinguished so far as to
allow of an appearance of armed neutrality, if not of

250

''RA MSG ATE SANDS."

friendship, to exist amongst them. When the cat
had played with the mice, and had allowed canaries
to peck it without resenting the liberty, a hare was
made to play upon a tambourine, and during the
finale, the proprietor's friend and assistant on the
drum made the usual collection. The drummer
wore a wonderful green coat ; he was very ugly,
but an excellent type of his class. As I made up
my mind to introduce the whole of the show, taking
the moment of the hare's performance as the chief
point ; it was necessary to enter into negotia-
tions with the proprietors. I found, as I expected,
that they hailed from London; and I also found that
they w^ould sit, and the animals should sit, if they
were sufficiently well paid for doing so. The chief
proprietor's name was Gwillim, and his town resi-
dence was 32, Duke Street, Tower Street, Waterloo
Road. He came to see me in London, and a day
was fixed for the beginning of performance. It
was late in December, when our enemies the fogs
were upon us, that I was promised my first sitting
from Mr. Gwillim. Instead of that gentleman came
the following letter :

" December 23, 1853.

Sir,

'T ham sorry I Cannot as attend on you to-
Day. My limbs is so Bad that I thout I Could not
Do you juctice, and It Being so Wet and Fogger I
thout it Wol Make no Diference to you

" I Remain you

Mr. Gwillim.

"At 32, Duke St., Tower St.,
Warterlew Road."

A "HAPPY family:'

251

However, the fo^s lifted, and in due time I com-
pleted a tolerable resemblance of Mr. Gwillim and
his establishment, including the ugly drummer; whose
coat became my property, and did duty on many
occasions afterwards. Under date of Dec. 30, says
my diary :

Gwillim came at last. Set to work about 12;
worked hard and painted him and the hare, having
the birds arranged for to-morrow."

''Dec. 31. — A good day at birds, cages, etc.;
finished them pretty well. Paid the man 30s., and
bade him adieu."

Though I was fortunate enough to be overwhelmed
with commissions for small pictures, nearly all my
larger pictures were speculations as regarded pur-
chasers ; but up to the Ramsgate Sands" time, I
had had little difficulty in disposing of works that,
from their size, and the time occupied in completing
them, were necessarily expensive. It was my habit
to leave a large loophole for the escape of a pur-
chaser, in the event of any objection arising in his
mind in respect of the way his commission may have
been executed. I found a few repudiations on
grounds to which I could not object. About the
time of the beginning of the ''Sands," some collectors
found me out, to whom, according to their own
showing, price was of no consequence. One, I
believe a very rich one from the north, to whom I
showed the Ramsgate sketch, asked the price, the
size of the intended work, etc. The price I could
not name till after the completion of the picture ; the

252

''RA MSG ATE SANDS."

size was satisfactory. The collector said he was
''perfectly delighted" with the subject as treated by
me, and he left me after extracting a promise that I
would give him the first refusal of the picture. The
gentleman in question, a perfect stranger to me,
happened to be a friend of an acquaintance of mine,

an artist, to whom I confided the fact of Mr. S

being in all probability the happy possessor of my
picture, then on the verge of completion.

'' I think you are making a mistake," was the

reply. '' Mr. S was here the other day. He

told me he had seen your sketch of ' Ramsgate Sands,'
and (you won't mind my telling you, will you ?) he
said he wondered how anybody in his senses could
waste his time in painting such a tissue of vulgarity,
and that he wouldn't have such a thing on his
walls."

This was what would be called in prize-ring
language " a facer," and quite sufficient to con-
vince me that my promise to give Mr. S the

"first refusal" was unnecessary. The picture was
refused by five other " patrons/' upon one excuse or
another. One gentleman, finding himself conmxd
(P.R. again), said the picture wanted something,
Frank Stone, who stood by and heard this
brilliant objection, turned to the collector and
said : What do you say to a balloon, sir T
pointing to the sky. " Would something of that kind
finish the picture T

After half a dozen rejections, I refused to listen to
the advice of my friends to '' avoid picture-dealers,"

MULREADY'S VERDICT,

253

and the picture was bought at the price of a thousand
guineas by Messrs. Lloyd ; who had no cause to
repent of their bargain, as I shall afterwards prove.
Whilst the larger picture was progressing slowly
towards completion, I painted several small works,
the ready sale of which enabled me to keep the ship —
now laden with several small passengers — well before
the wind. Amongst the best was a scene from
''Woodstock," which — with three other subjects from
Scott — was very beautifully engraved by Stocks
for a new edition of the Waverley Novels. In the
progress of the Sands," I benefited greatly by the
advice of some of my brother artists. About six
weeks before " sending-in day," I begged for a
criticism from Mulready, the greatest of them all ;
and never shall I forget the visit. My diary says :

I^ed. 20. — Mulready came early, and looked over
the picture. He complained chiefly of the colour
and effect — too many gray tones used — more positive
tints should have been chosen for some of the fore-
ground figures; the light and shade not sufficiently
massed, too much cut up into small pieces of sharp
dark and light — all my old faults. Worked a little in
bad spirits."

Bad spirits, indeed. The severity of the remarks
was awful ; so severe that the old man, conscious of
his strong language, looking towards a curtain that
covered the studio door, said, *' I hope no one can
hear what I am saying."

When he left me, I remember saying to myself,
'* If all that is true, I have made a dismal failure."

254

''RA MSG ATE SANDS:

Unable to work, I went to Egg and implored him
to tell me if there was hope in my work or not. He
returned with me, and cheered me a good deal. He
said, You must remember that Mulready had come
from his own brilliantly-coloured picture — his eye
accustomed to strong colours — to yours, in which
bric^ht reds and greens could not be used."

That might account for much that Mulready said;
but to this day I cannot understand the sweeping
condemnation that he passed upon every quality in
the picture. He could see no character, no beauty
in the women, no nature or truth anywhere. I knew
him to be a severe, but not an ill-natured critic ; and
the idea of jealousy was too absurd to be entertained
for a moment. And that he was absolutely wrong the
after success of the picture abundantly proved. Show-
Sunday came, and numbers of people with it. Under
date April 3rd, I find :

" Many visitors. On the whole feel the picture
is thought successful ; cannot tell — it may be the
reverse."

This was my first year as Councillor and Hang-
man. As a very young member, I was not allowed
to interfere w^ith the two older men, who had gone
through the arranging of the Exhibition several times
before. If I proposed a picture for a good position,
they were two to one against me ; still in some few
instances I was permitted to have an opinion, and
to act upon it. Of course I took care that ^' Rams-
gate Sands " had a good place ; and when I hung it,
I remember well the relief I felt, that though not a

HANGING ''THE HUNCHBACK:

255

word was said about the merit of the picture, its
situation was not objected to. The Secretary said :

You have given yourself a first-rate place ; now
take care what pictures you hang all round your own,
or you will kill it to a certainty."

The next entry in my diary says :

''April 22. — Finished my first hanging. It is a
painful and most disagreeable business — so many
interests to consider. Tried to do my duty, though
perhaps with too much thought for my friends."

Regard for the interest of my friends reminds me
of a young student whom I was very desirous to serve.
He had sent his first work to the Academy — a scene
from Sheridan Knovvles's play of The Hunchback "
— a small picture containing two figures. Cooper and
Webster were my fellow-hangers, and, on my calling
their attention to my friend's work, Cooper used
language about it which I cannot repeat. Webster
smiled, and asked me if I should like the place of
honour " for it. From the remarks and manner of
those gentlemen I gave up the idea of a good place :
but as my young friend had told me that so long as
his picture was hung he did not mind if it were hung
upside down at the top of the room, I still had hope
that I could smuggle it in somewhere in an inferior
situation ; so when Webster said, Go to the Archi-
tecture Room, and try your hand there," I went
off with a load of pictures, and The Hunchback "
amongst them. Under my orders one side of the room
was pretty well furnished; my friend's picture in a
high corner where I trusted it might escape the eyes

256

''RA MSG ATE SANDS:'

of my companions. When Cooper made his appear-
ance with Well, how are you cretting on ?" " Oh,
pretty well," replied I. I saw the old hangman take
a rapid glance at the result of my labours, and as
rapidly disappear, to return almost immediately with
Webster. Neither of them spoke. Cooper pointed
with his measuring-rod at The Hunchback" in the
corner, and then turned to me and said : It won't
do ; if it is to be hung anywhere, try it outside in
the square. Put it on the line on the Nelson Column ;
more people will see it there than they will here."
With every desire to serve my friend, the fates —
Cooper and Webster — w^ere against me, and The
Hunchback" retired for ever ; so did the author of
his being, for he left an ungrateful profession, and
now supplies costumes for painting, with a greater
profit to himself and everybody else than he could
have achieved by the practice of the fine arts. I felt
much disappointed that none of the Council had a
word of praise for my picture. The thing was a
novelty. I saw them look, but not a word of any
kind fell from them by which I could judge of their
opinions. But when the rest of the members were
admitted, a change seemed to take place ; several of
the most eminent were loud in expressions of ap-
proval ; some of the tongues of the Councillors were
loosened, and I felt assurance of success to be
" doubly sure."

Another quotation from my diary, for which I
must apologize and promise to quote it as seldom as
possible in future :

THE QUEEN'S ARTISTIC TASTE.

257

April 28. — Drove to R. A. at a quarter to twelve ;
the Royal family came. Eastlake presented me to
the Queen. She was delighted with ' Seaside.'
Wanted to buy it — found she couldn't, and gave me
a commission for a similar subject. Everybody
likes it. I find myself and Maclise the guns this
year.

Maclise's contribution was the Marriage of
Strongbow," one of his finest works, now in the
National Gallery at Dublin. I retired from the pre-
sence of Royalty as soon as I could do so with pro-
priety; but not before I had experienced the truth of
what I had often heard, namely, that the Prince
Consort and the Queen knew quite as much about
art as most painters ; and that their treatment of
artists displayed a gracious kindness delightful to
experience.

Sir C. Eastlake, whose duty it was to attend
the Royal party through the entire Exhibition,
left them, and came to me whilst I was standing
among the rest of the Council, to inquire into whose
possession the Life at the Seaside " — as it was
called in the catalogue — had fallen. Bought by a
picture-dealer," said I, ''who for a profit would sell
it to her Majesty or anybody else." Eastlake re-
turned to the Royalties and conveyed my intelligence
evidently, for I could see a slight shrug of the Royal
shoulders, which said quite plainly, " Picture-dealer !
Outrageous profit, of course." A few days solved
the question, for Messrs. Lloyd, hearing of the
Queen's desire for the picture, opened up communi-

VOL. I. 17

258

''RA MSG ATE SANDS:

cation through the usual channel; the result being
the acquisition of the picture by the Queen for the
price Lloyds had paid for it; their profit accruing from
the loan of it for three years for the purpose of
engraving. That part of the business was most
admirably effected by Mr. Sharp, the well-known
line-engraver ; and if report spoke truth and the
Art Union of London paid ^3,000 for the plate,
Messrs. Lloyd must have received a satisfactory
profit on this, as on many other occasions. I should
be sorry, indeed, if anything I say of these gentlemen
could be interpreted into an insinuation against them,
or their fair and legitimate profits. I had very
many dealings with the firm, and invariably found
them liberal and just. On one occasion only they
allowed strict business principles " to prevail so far
as to damage their own interests. I have already
remarked that I should have something to say on the
patron " subject, in the matter of the oil-study for
" Life at the Seaside " and Mr. Birt ; who I must say,
by-the-way, had behaved to me with much kindness
and liberality up to the time of my finishing the
sketch for him, when his conduct became perfectly
unaccountable. I completed the sketch so success-
fully that one of the Lloyds, happening to call, saw it,
and expressed a great desire to possess it. I told
him — judging from previous transactions with Mr.
Birt — that there was no chance for him, as I con-
sidered the sketch already the property of that
gentleman.

''HE WHO WILL NOT WHEN HE MAY^

Well," said Lloyd, there is no certainty with
these gentlemen. What is the price ?"

A hundred and fifty guineas," said I.

Consider it ours if Mr. Birt declines it. Does
he know the price ?"

No."

I was putting a few last touches to the little
picture when Mr. Birt called to see it, and sitting
behind me, something like the following conversa-
tion took place :

What a beautiful little thing you have made of
that, Frith !"

''Glad you like it," said I. ''Have I done as
much to it as you expected or desired ?"

Well, don't ye see" (a favourite phrase repeated
constantly when there was nothing to see), *' I've
been thinking — er — er — that it is too small, don't
y'see. It wouldn't hang with the rest of my pictures
satisfactorily — from its size, don't y'see."

I don't know which feeling possessed me most
strongly, surprise or anger.

"Too small!" said I. ''What on earth do you
mean by too small ? The thing is not made smaller
by the finish put upon it at your suggestion ; it is
the same size as it was when you bought it."

''There, there ; don't get out of temper."

" But I am out of temper. I should not have
spent a lot of time on the thing if you hadn't sug-
gested it being more elaborated ; and now that it is
done, and you say w^ell done, you pretend it is too

17 — 2

26o

''R A MSG ATE SANDS:'

small. If you wanted an excuse for not taking the
sketch, you should have found a better one/'

There you go — why get in a passion ? Your
pictures are ' bank-notes ' {sic) ; plenty of pur-
chasers for such as them — um — er — don't y'see ?"

''Oh, as for that/' said I, "I know I need not
trouble myself; for as you decline it, the picture
is sold already/'

'' Sold !" very excitedly. Who has bought
it ?"

Lloyds," was the reply.
At what price
*' Never mind."

" Oh, come now, I can make it all right. What
is the price

'* A hundred and fifty guineas."
Then I will take it," and as he spoke I heard
the rustling of notes, or perhaps the paper of a
cheque.

" Indeed you won't," said I. I promised it to
Lloyds if you refused it, and Lloyds' it is."

Nonsense ! here is the money, don't y'see !"

" No, I don't see. I only wish I could see that
you have acted fairly /' and my patron and I parted
on unpleasant terms, soon after forgotten, and on
both sides forgiven.

To complete the history of this little sketch, I must
return to Messrs. Lloyd, then the proprietors of it.
. My friend Mr. Miller, owner of ''The Witch," and
other works of mine, saw the " Sands" sketch, took

THE PRICE OF THE PICTURE.

261

a great fancy to it, and asked me if I thought Lloyd
would forego it in his favour. Mr. Miller was then
forming a large collection of the works of dead and
living painters, and whilst largely employing picture-
dealers to sell to him, or to purchase for him the works
of departed genius, he greatly preferred buying living
men's pictures from the artists who had produced
them. I went to Lloyd and told him of Miller's
wish in regard to the sketch, and begged him to let
me sell it to Mr. M. for the price settled upon between
Lloyd and me.

" Oh dear no," was the reply. The price is two
hundred guineas. Business is bitsiness. Nobody
knows that better than Mr. Miller. If he wants the
sketch, he knows where to get it."

Is business always business ?" inquired I. Are
there not occasions when it is worth while to sink
the business question ? Don't you know that if you
were to oblige Mr. Miller in this little matter, he
might buy pictures from you, or get you to buy for
him at Christie's — that you might make a friend of
him, in fact ?"

No," said Lloyd, ''that is just what I don't know.
As I said before, business is business ; and two
hundred guineas is the price of ' Ramsgate Sands '
the Little."

I conveyed this decision to my friend, who paid
the two hundred guineas, telling me at the same time
that he thought Lloyd had perhaps lost more than
fifty pounds by his business habits ; and events

262

"RA MSG ATE SANDS."

proved the truth of my idea of business ; for Mr.
Miller never bought another picture from Lloyd, or
through his instrumentality.

From one cause or another, I found I wasted a
great deal of time after the exhibition of Ramsgate
Sands." I was abominably idle, or occupied on
trumpery subjects unworthy of the trouble taken
in reproducing them. I confess with humiliation
that I was prevailed upon to paint a companion to
the vulgar ''Sherry, Sir?'' to be called ''Did you
ring, Sir A modest-looking servant is opening
a door and looking at the spectator with an in-
quiring expression. I don't think the engraving
ever sold, and I am quite sure it didn't deserve
to sell. What became of the picture, and some
others I did at that time, will, I trust, be for ever
mercifully hidden from me.

Towards the end of 1854, I found myself pre-
paring a sketch of a child's birthday. The scene is
laid in a dining-room, where a family is assembled
to do honour to a small person who may have
attained the mature age of six, and is at the moment
an object of attention to the whole party ; for the
ceremony of health-drinking is taking place. The
heroine sits in a high chair, which has been decorated
for the occasion with a wreath of flowers, and is
somewhat bewildered by her uproarious brothers
and sisters, whose wishes for many happy returns
of the day are screamed by half a dozen shrill voices.
The parent pair preside, of course, assisted by friends;

A WORKHOUSE PATRIARCH.

263

whilst the grandfather and grandmother look sym-
pathetically on.

I am indebted to the workhouse for some very good
elderly models. I am sorry to say that the freedom
with which artists were allowed to select sitters from
the ''asylum of poverty" no longer exists. We are
shut out from all the workhouses ; and the reason
given us is the impossibility of the inmates,"
whether male or female, being able to pass the
public-house on their homeward route, without leav-
ing there much of their sitting-money in exchange
for drink. The grandfather in ''The Birthday" was
a man who had seen better days, and found refuge
in the workhouse for his old age. He was an
amusing old fellow, brimming over with wise saws
and ofood advice. He warned me arainst extrava-
gance — not that he had been guilty of it, oh no! for,
said he, If I hadn't been a very careful man, I
should have been in the workhouse long before I
was."

The masters of the workhouses that I have visited
had always been willing to assist in allowing me to
select models from the great variety of characteristic
faces abounding in their establishments, till the old
ladies and gentlemen proved beyond all doubt, by
their frequent habit of returning both drunk and
abusive, that the indulgence must be stopped.

Whilst the picture of " The Birthday " was pro-
ceeding, I occupied myself with many less important
works. Amongst the best were a study called

264

"RA MSG ATE SANDS:

Lovers," and The Opera Box." In reference to
the latter, I find in my inevitable diary :

''May 3. — The Queen came to the Academy.
Prince Albert asked to be introduced to me, and
complimented me on 'The Opera Box.'"

I also painted a public-house sign, or, to speak
more correctly, I assisted in doing so ; for Egg
worked on one side of it, whilst I attended to the
other. The public-house was called "The Pilgrim."
On Egg's side of the sign the pilgrim, with cockle-
shell and staff, was represented knocking at a door ;
on the reverse — my side — he was coming out re-
freshed, and looking up thankfully at a piece of sky,
meant to pass for heaven. This work of art was
a present to our friend Miller, who had just then
purchased an estate in Lancashire, for which he was
said to have paid a fabulous sum — as, in addition
to many hundreds or thousands of acres, a whole
village and the public-house were part of the bargain.
We fully expected our pilgrim would have been
allowed to take the place always allotted to signs at
inns — either above the entrance-door, or in the
prouder position on the top of a post, where he
might swing and creak after the manner of his kind.
But whether from respect for his calling, or for

the artistic merit with which he was invested," he
was taken inside and relegated to the bar, where he
is more likely to retain his carnations " than if they
were exposed to wind and weather. Many artists
have painted signs. Millais once painted a George

A PAINTER'S REVENGE.

265

and Dragon;" David Cox, ''The Oak" at Bettws-
y-Coed; and George Harlow (a pupil of Lawrence's,
an admirable but somewhat eccentric painter)
left a sign behind him at Epsom, having had the
audacity to initial it in one corner with "T. L., Greek
Street," where Lawrence lived. The story goes that
Harlow and Sir T. Lawrence had quarrelled and
parted in anger ; the younger painter thinking him-
self the aggrieved party. As a piece of revenge, he
painted the sign, and not only put Lawrence's initials
and address on it, but executed it exactly after the
manner of that artist. By this he is said to have
settled his bill ; and he certainly annoyed his late
master, who, on meeting the wicked sign-painter in
Portland Place, accosted him with,

" Sir, if this were not a long street, I would have
kicked you from one end of it to the other."

*' Would you ?" said Harlow. Then I am glad
it is a long street."

I think it was at this time that I first saw Dickens
as an actor. He played the principal character in a
piece called The Frozen Deep," written by my
old friend Wilkie Collins, in a theatre erected in the
garden of Tavistock House. I append a bill of the
play :

TAVISTOCK HOUSE THEATRE.

UNDER THE MANAeEMENT OF MR. CHARLES DICKENS.

On Thursday, January Sth, lSo7, at a quarter before S o'clock, 7c'dl be presented

AN ENTIRELY NEW

ROMANTIC DRAMA, IN THREE ACTS, BY MH. WILKIE COLLINS,

CALLED

THE FROZEJT DEEP.

The Machinery and Properties, by Mr. Ireland, "/ the Theatre Royal, ^delphi. 'J he Dressea hy Messrs. Nathan
of Titckbourue Street, Haymarket. Perruquier, Mr. Wilson, of the Strand.

THE PROLOGUE WILL BE DELIVERED BY MR. JOHN FORSTER.

CAPTAIN EBSWORTH, of The Sea Mew . . Mr, Edward Pioott.

CAPTAIN HEEDING, of The Wanderer . . . Mr. Alfred Dickens.

LIEUTENANT CRAYFORD .... Mr. Mark Lemon.

FRANK ALDERSLEY . . . . . Mr. Wilkie Collins.

RICHARD WARDoUR .... Mr. Charles Dickens.

LIEUTENANT STEVENTON . . . . Mr. Young Charles.

JOHN WANT, Ships Cook .... Mr. AurjusTUs Egg, A.R.A.

BATESON ) .-mo Tr • n ; ( ]\Ir. EdWARD HOGARTH.

DARKER )- ^"'-^ ^-^ T^'' ' • • i Mr. Frederick Evans.

(Officers and Crews of The Sea Mew and Wanderer.)

MRS. STEVENTON Miss Helen.

R08E EBSWOUTII . . . . . Miss Kate.

LUCY CRAYFoRD ..... Miss Hogarth.

CLARA BURNHAM Miss Mary.

NURSE ESTHER Mrs. Wills.

MAID ....... Miss Martha.

THE SCENERY AND SCENIC EFFECTS OF THE FIRST ACT, BY m. TELBIN.
THE SCENERY & SCENIC EFFECTS OF THE SECOND AND THIRD ACTS, BY Mr. STANFIELD, R. A.
ASSISTED BY MR. DANSON.
THE ACT-DROP, ALSO BY Mr. STANFIELD, R.A.

AT THE END OF THE PLAY, HALF-AN-HQUR FOR REFRESHMENT.

To Conclude with the Furco, in Two Acts, by ]\Ir. Buckstone, called

UNCLE JOHN.

UNCLE JOHN :Mr. Charles Dickens.

NKl'lIEW HAWK Mr. Wilkie Collins. ,

FHIKXI) THOMAS Mr. Mark Lemon.

EDWARD EASEL Mr. Augustus Ego, A.R.A.

ANDltEW ...... Mr. Young Charles.

NIKCE HAWK :Miss Hogarth.

ELIZA Miss Kate.

MRS. COMFORT Miss Mary.

Musical Composer and Conductor of the Orchestra— Mr. FRANCESCO BERGER, who will

preside at the Piano.

CARRIAGES :\IAY BE ORDERED AT HALF-PAST ELEVEN.

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN 1

THE ''SPLENDID STROLLER:'

267

Carlyle says Dickens's real forte was acting, not
writing." Carlyle has said many wise things, and, as
he was human, he said some foolish ones ; but none
surely more foolish than that which I quote. I saw
Dickens in all the characters he attempted, and I
heard him read most of his works ; and no one who
has had a similar experience could be blind to the
dramatic power with which he realized every
character, either created by himself or others.
That with training and experience he would
have been a great actor there is no doubt. He
would have been great in whatever career he might
have pursued ; but as a great actor stands to a great
writer in about the same relation that a great
engraver stands to a great painter, I submit that
Carlyle was mistaken, unless he meant to imply that
Dickens was not a great writer ; in that case, like
most of my fellow-creatures, I am at issue with him.

CHAPTER XXI.
"the derby day."

As I have said earlier in these reminiscences,
the shock that the first sight of a picture in the
Exhibition causes to its author can with difficulty be
imagined by artists even, who have not experienced
the sensation ; the influence of the surrounding
works, the glare of frames, and the unaccustomed
light, all combine to produce so complete a transfor-
mation as to create doubts that the black, dirty, inky,
thing that affronts you can be the clear, bright,
effective production that was so admired by your
friends and yourself before it left your painting-room.
Wilkie felt the full force of this, for in speaking of
his splendid ''Chelsea Pensioners reading the Gazette
announcing the Battle of Waterloo," he says : *' This
is the only instance of one of my pictures which has
not suffered terribly by the Exhibition." My ''Birth-
day " was a very painful example of the effect pro-
duced by its surroundings; being hung in a well-
known and dreaded dark part of the large room
and being a low-toned picture, the consequences
were dreadful. I can never forget the shock of the

PICTURE-KILLING.

269

first sight of it. Some one endeavoured to console
me by saying that if a fine picture by an old master
were hung in a modern Exhibition it would be
destroyed. I was, and am still, inclined to agree
with my friend, but I could find no consolation in
the reflection ; and I very soon discovered that my
new effort was considered a great falling off" from
Ramsgate Sands," some kind critics going so far
as to say I was done for ;" the decline had begun,
speedily to terminate in a series of performances
disgraceful to myself and the body which had
elected me so prematurely. For a time I was
crushed, but a reaction soon took place. Though
the subject of The Birthday " offered no oppor-
tunity for the display of character and variety of
incident that distinguished the Sands," the execu-
tion of the picture was not inferior to its predecessor ;
and I felt sure that if I could find a theme capable
of affording me the opportunity of showing an ap-
preciation of the infinite variety of everyday life, I
had confidence enough in my power of dealing w^ith
it successfully ; but the subject — then, as now and
ever, the chief difficulty — where was I to find a
scene of such interest and importance as to warrant
my spending months, perhaps a year or two, in re-
presenting it } Until the year of which I write —
1854 — I had never seen any of the great horse-
races for which England is so famous, and my first
experience of the modern Olympian games was at
Hampton ; when the idea occurred to me that if
some of the salient points of the great gathering

270

''THE DERBY DAY."

could be grouped together, an effective picture
might be the result. Mentioning this to a friend
with whom I was walking about the course, he — or
rather she, for my friend was a lady — declared her
belief that it was impossible to represent such an
enormous crowd on canvas at all, without producing
confusion worse confounded. As we were walking
along the course we met with an incident which,
though impossible to be reproduced in a picture,
may be related here. My eyes were wide open and
my attention alive to everything surrounding me ;
and whilst watching a group of gipsies who were
eating some of the remains of a Fortnum and Mason
pie (that had been given them) near one of the
booths, I happened to look into the booth itself.
It was evidently one of the cheap dining-places so
common on race-courses ; for a lono: table covered
with a white cloth, with plates at intervals, stretched
from the course into the inner recess at the back.
There were no diners, but a solitary man sat at the
end of the table within a few feet of me, leaning his
head upon his hand, seemingly in deep reflection.
As I looked he suddenly raised his head, seized one
of the dinner-knives from the table, and made a
furious attempt to cut his throat. The knife was
fortunately as blunt as those instruments usually are
in better regulated dining-rooms than the booth at
Hampton, and though the man injured himself con-
siderably, judging from the ghastly pallor of his face,
and the awful evidence on his be-ringed hands, I did
not believe his attempt was fatal, for he was instantly

RACE-COURSE INCIDENTS.

271

seized and prevented from repeating the attack. I
heard afterwards that he had been a heavy loser ;
and my informant said, The fool lost his money,
but he won't lose his life ; it wouldn't much matter if
he did, for he ain't married, and he is an awful rip."

My first visit to Epsom was in the May of 1856 —
Blink Bonnie's year. My first Derby had no interest
for me as a race, but as giving me the opportunity of
studying life and character, it is ever to be gratefully
remembered. Gambling-tents and thimble-rigging,
prick in the garter and the three-card trick, had not
then been stopped by the police. So convinced was
I that I could find the pea under the thimble, that I
was on the point of backing my guess rather heavily,
when I was stopped by Egg, whose interference was
resented by a clerical-looking personage, in language
much opposed to what would have been anticipated
from one of his cloth.

You," said Egg, addressing the divine, " you are
a confederate, you know ; my friend is not to be
taken in."

Look here," said the clergyman, don't you call
names, and don't call me names, or I shall knock

your d d head off."

" Will you ?" said Egg, his courage rising as he
saw two policemen approaching. " Then I call the
lot of you — the Quaker there, no more a Quaker
than I am, and that fellow that thinks he looks like
a farmer — you are a parcel of thieves!"

So they are, sir," said a meek-looking lad who
joined us ; " they have cleaned me out/

272

''THE DERBY DAY."

Now move off ; clear out of this !" said the
police ; and the gang walked away, the clergyman
turnino- and extendino: his arms in the act of blessing
me and Egg.

The acrobats with every variety of performance, the
nigger minstrels, gipsy fortune-telling, to say nothing
of carriages filled with pretty women, together with
the sporting element, seemed to offer abundant
material for the line of art to which I felt obliged — in
the absence of higher gifts — to devote myself ; and
the more I considered the kaleidoscopic aspect of
the crowd on Epsom Downs, the more firm became
my resolve to attempt to reproduce it. As the time
for observation was too short to allow of sketching,
I endeavoured to make such mental notes as should
help me in my proposed work. No time was lost
on my return home, as I find by my diary that on
May 2 I I began a rough drawing of ^ Race-course,' "
and on the 24th the " rough drawing " was finished. I
cannot say I have ever found a difficulty in composing
great numbers of figures into a more or less har-
monious whole. I don't think this ^v/?, or knacky can
be acquired. Many artists with far greater powers
than I possess fail utterly when they attempt com-
positions of more than three or four figures ; while
to me, the putting together of a small number of
objects, either living or dead, presents difficulties
occasionally almiost insurmountable. I mention
this as a warning to students never to attempt
large compositions unless they feel they have
the ''gift" for work of the kind, the true sign

PRELIMINARY STUDIES.

^73

being the facility which they feel in its accomplish-
ment. And granting the facility, too much time can
scarcely be spent in making preliminary studies,
always from nature, of separate figures and groups.
I arranged the general lines of the composition of
the " Derby Day " in what I call a rough charcoal
drawing, as noted above ; and after making numbers
of studies from models for all the prominent figures,
I went for my usual seaside holiday to Folkestone,
and employed much of it very delightfully in pre-
paring a small careful oil-sketch — with colour and
effect finally planned — so that when I chose to begin
the large picture, I found the course clear " before
me.

Mr. Jacob Bell had desired me to paint an import-
ant picture for him so soon as I found a subject
agreeable to his taste and my own. On seeing the
sketch of the Derby Day," no time was lost in
deliberation, for I was commissioned to paint a
picture five or six feet long from it, at the price of
fifteen hundred pounds ; the copyright being reserved
to me, and a reasonable time conceded for the loan
of the picture for engraving. Many weeks were
spent upon the large sketch, and a second one, now
in the Bethnal Green Museum, was made ; in which
I tried a different arrangement of the principal
group. It will be evident, then, that if the larger
work failed, it would not be for lack of preparation.
Before the picture was begun, the copyright for the
engraving w^as purchased by Mr. Gambart, who
agreed to pay fifteen hundred pounds for it. The

VOL. I. I 8

274

''THE DERBY DAY:'

greater part of the year 1856, after exhibition of ''The
Birthday," was taken up by small pictures, some
of them of a very pot-boiling character, and none
worth noting in this place, or anywhere else. I may,
perhaps, except the picture of an old woman accused
of witchcraft, exhibited several years before, which I
subjected to a treatment that I recommend for adop-
tion under similar circumstances. After seeing the
picture at Preston with a fresh eye," I felt I could
greatly improve it, and some changes — with the
owner's sanction — I proceeded to effect, at a sacrifice
of much time, and greatly to the advantage of the
picture.

On the 20th of January my diary says : " First
day s work on ' Race-course a long journey,
but I go to it with a good heart, and if I live,
doubt not a triumphant issue. Sketched in some
of the figures in charcoal."

I wrote, February 9 : First day's painting on
'Race-course.' Miss Mortimer sat. Did two heads
of carriage-ladies pretty well."

The main incident in the Derby Day" — that of
the acrobat and his hungry little boy — is too well
known to need any description from me ; as indeed
are all the various passages of the picture, from the
fact of its being prominendy before the public in the
form of engraving, as well as from its position in the
National Gallery. In the Drury Lane pantomime
I found the acrobat I wanted, and after the usual
bargaining he agreed to come with his litde son.
The young gendeman was possessed with the idea

THE LITTLE ACROBAT.

that sitting meant throwing continual somersaults ;
but that performance, amusing enough, did not
advance my picture ; and it was with much difficulty
that I stopped his going head over heels into casts
and draperies, to the confusion of both. The hands
of the youth — not very clean to begin with — became
so dirty that a visit to my lavatory was suggested.
When he returned to us he said : Oh, father ! such
a beautiful place ! all mahoginy, and a chany basin to
wash in !" One of my children came into the studio
with a message : Mamma says, papa, will the
models want luncheon ?"

Mamma — papa !" said the little acrobat with
contempt; why don't you say father and mother,
young un ?"

Don't you be cheeky !" said the parent.
I made a fairly satisfactory beginning ; my diffi-
culties greatly increased by the models being unused
to their work. The father, indeed, became faint, and
a turn in the garden was necessary. I soon saw that
it would be impossible to use my acrobats in painting
the whole of their figures, so by increased payment I
acquired their dresses, which were donned by those
to the manner born." In such a complicated affair
as the Derby Day," models of every kind were
wanted. I laid my children and friends largely
under contribution, as w^ell as professional models,
one of whom, named Bishop, was so peculiar a
character as to deserve more lengthened notice. He
was a good fellow and a splendid sitter, but a little
doubtful in keeping his appointments ; he had much

18—2

276

''THE DERBY DAY."

trouble in passing a public-house without going into
it first, and he sometimes stayed long and forgot his
engagements. In the middle of my work he dis-
appeared for six weeks. I found on inquiry that he
had suddenly left his lodgings, and his landlady had
no idea what had become of him. I had almost
given up the hope of seeing him again, when one
morning, to my great delight, he put in an appear-
ance, looking like the ghost of his former self.

Why, Bishop," said I, " where on earth have
you been ? You are looking very bad ; have you
been ill ?"

No, sir ; but I haven't had much to eat where
I've been — leastways not the sort I like. Skilly
don't suit me."

''What's skilly?" said I; ''and where have you
been to get it ?"

"Skilly is what they gives you when you get Into
quod, and that's where I've been."

" Quod !" said I ; " prison ! You don't mean to
say you have been in prison ?"

"Ah ! I have though, sir; and Til tell you how it
was. After I left here last time as I was sitting, I
goes towards my place, and just there by Palace
Gardens I sees a crowd and a row going on, and I
never can see nothing like that without just looking
to see what it's all about ; and there was a man
using bad language to Mr. Webster, which I know
well, and a nice gentleman he is, and I've often set
for him. So I pushes in, and I says, ' Now what is
it ?' I says ; ' what have you got to say to this here

'TLL HAVE YOU PUT IN PUNCH !"

277

gent, which is a friend of mine ?' * I'll say some-
thing and do something to you in a minute,' says a
fellow ; ' don't you interfere !' And if you'll believe
me, sir, I thought he was going to hit Mr. Webster;
so I gives him one for himself. And he turns to me,
and we went at it hammer and tongs ; and the police
came and interfered, as they always does ; and they
laid hold of me, and one of 'em says I hit him.
' You've assaulted me in the exercise of my dooty,'
he says, *so I shall run you in.' And run me in
he did; but it took more than him to do it, and
they locked me up, and next morning I was
took before the beak. The policeman swore as
I assaulted him in the execution of his dooty.
I told him it was a lie, and was giving him a
little more of my mind, when the magistrate says,
' Silence, man !' he says. ' Go to prison for ih7^ee
weeks.' That made me wild, and I up and says,
' You call yourself a beak ?' I says. * Why, you
ain't up to the situation; and I'll tell you what, I'm
a artist's model, and I sits for them as draws for
Punch; and I'll have you took and put in Punch, you
just see if I don't.' The beak opened his mouth at
that. He ain't often spoke to like that, you bet, sir;
and after a bit he says, * Now you will go to prison
for six weeks ;' and that's where I've been, sir."

*'And very sorry you must have felt over the
skilly for your impertinence to the magistrate,"
said I.

Well, yes, I wish I hadn't a said it ; but he made
me that wild."

278

"THE DERBY DAY:

Bishop was a favourite model of Edwin Landseers,
who told me the following story of him. It appeared
that to the profession of artist's model, Bishop added
the business of a pig-dealer. He had tolerably
large conveniences for the prosecution of that trade
at his place," in the form of styes, etc. — a favourite
pig now and then sharing the kitchen with Mr. and
Mrs. Bishop. As the object of the pig-dealer was
to fatten his pigs for the market, much pigs food
was necessary ; and one day, when he was sitting to
Landseer and bemoaning the difficulty of getting
sufficient ''wash" for his pigs, a bright idea seemed
to strike him, and he said to the great painter :

'' They tell me, sir, as you knows the Queen."

" Know the Queen ? Of course I do. Every-
body knows the Queen," said Landseer.

''Ah! but,'' said Bishop, "to speak to, you know,
sir, coinfortabler

"Well, I have had the honour of speaking to her
Majesty many times. Why do you ask ?"

"Well, sir, you see there must be such lots of pig-
wash from Buckingham Palace and them sort of
places most likely thrown away ; and my missus and
me thinks that if you was just to tip a word or two
to the Queen — which is a real kind lady one and all
says — she would give her orders, and I could fetch
the wash away every week with my barren"

In the left-hand corner of the picture stands a
lady in a riding-habit. To those who remember the
beautiful Miss Gilbert, my rendering of that witty,
charming creature will not be satisfactory. The

"THE PRETTY HORSE-BREAKER."

279

face was perforce in shadow, and in profile, thus
handicapping me terribly. I venture to think that
Landseer's picture was scarcely more likely to satisfy
the many admirers of my lovely model. In that
work she was represented reclining by the side of
a horse, whose vices were supposed to have been
charmed away by the mysterious influence of The
Pretty Horse - Breaker " as she was afterwards
christened. Miss Gilbert was a most accom-
plished horsewoman ; indeed, she told me that the
greater part of her life had been passed in the saddle,
and she was never so happy as when galloping for
dear life after a pack of hounds. In return for her
kindness in sitting for me, I promised her a proof
engraving of the piccure. This was on the occasion
of her last visit, and in reply to my telling her that
she would have to wait at least three years for the
print, she said, Ah ! never mind. I shall soon
ride the time away."

Poor girl ! She lived to receive her engraving ;
but she had done with time — rapid consumption had
seized her, and death came in the prime of her youth
and beauty. I had to thank my friend Mr. Tattersall
for the introduction to Miss Gilbert, and for other
valuable assistance durinc^ the progress of my picture.
The owner, Mr. Bell, was also very useful to me in
procuring models. Few people have a more ex-
tensive acquaintance, especially amongst the female
sex, than that possessed by Jacob Bell ; and what
seemed singular, was the remarkable prettiness that
distinguished nearly all these pleasant friends. I

28o

"THE DERBY DAVr

had but to name the points required, and an example
was produced.

What is it to be this time ?" he would say.
'*Fair or dark, long nose or short nose, Roman or
aquiline, tall figure or small ? Give your orders."

The order was given, and obeyed in a manner
that perfectly astonished me. I owe every female
figure in the Derby Day/' except two or three, to
the foraging of my employer.

'•What kind of person do you want for that young
woman w^ith the purse in her hand, listening to that
spooney fellow — lover, I suppose ?"

I should like a tall, fair woman. Handsome, of
course," I replied.

All right. I know the very thing. Been to the
Olympic lately ?"

''No."

"Well, go and see Miss H . I don't know

her. Hear she is charming in all ways. Sure she
will sit. You go and see her. I'll manage the
rest."

To the theatre I went, and found the lady all that
could be desired ; and in a few days she made her

first appearance in my painting-room. Miss H

was a very delightful person, and she sat admirably.
She was undeniably handsome ; but I failed miser-
ably, indeed unaccountably, in my attempts — again
and again renewed — to reproduce the charm that
was before me. At last I felt that I must either
rub out what I had done and seek another model, or
let my work go with a very serious blot in the centre

AN INDIGNANT BEAUTY.

281

of it. I did not hesitate long, for after a last and
futile attempt, I erased the figure ; and repainted it
from one of my own daughters. I need scarcely say

that I waited till Miss H had departed before

taking a step that I knew would be very annoying
to her ; and it cost me many pangs before I
could persuade myself that it was my duty to inflict
any amount of pain upon that lady and myself,
rather than allow a serious blemish to disfigure my

work. Miss H was an excellent actress ; but

she surpassed herself by the passion she displayed
when she saw the " Derby Day" in my room on its
completion. We were alone, fortunately perhaps.
I felt like a guilty culprit about to be sentenced.

Why, what is this ? Great heaven ! you have

rubbed me out ! This is the most insul What

does it mean ?"

The truth is, Miss H , I am truly sorry, but

I found "

And if I had given place to something better —
but to be displaced — to be rubbed out for such a

baby-faced chit as that "

*'Well, Miss H , I couldn't. It's my fault.

I tried very hard, as you "

And all the people at the theatre knew of my
sitting for the thing, and I shall be laughed at."

Oh ! I hope not. I will explain," said I.

Why didn't you say at first that I was of no use
to you, instead of putting me to the trouble of coming
here and exposing myself to the sneers of the — oh !
it's enough to make one's blood boil !"

282

''THE DERBY DAVr

It evidently was, and the only way for me was to
stand by till the boiling w^as over ; so I betook
myself to silence, and I listened to a storm of well-
deserved abuse, delivered in a style that would have
''brought down the house," if the audience could

have appreciated true passion. Miss H had

every reason for indignation, as I fully acknowledged
to her when she became cooler ; and eventually I
think she must have forgiven me, for she accepted a
proof of the engraving as a mark of my contrition. If
these lines should meet the eye of my kind but un-
fortunate sitter, I hope she will believe that to this
hour I regret the annoyance I occasioned her. I
remember telling the misadventure to Miss Gilbert,
and explaining to her the necessity for allowing
nothing to interfere with the successful production
of a work of art, and closing my observations by an
illustration, for I said :

Now take your own figure there,'* pointing to
the lady in the ridinor-habit. If I had failed in it

to the extent I did with Miss H 's, I would have

rubbed it out without hesitation."

Would you ?" replied the lady ; " then I would
without hesitation have put my parasol through your

picture, and if Miss H had served you right,

she would have done the same."

My determination to keep the horses as much in
the background of my "Derby Day" as possible,
did not arise from the fact of my not being able to
paint them properly, so much as from my desire that
the human being should be paramount. Still it was

RIDING THE WOODEN HORSE,

impossible to avoid the steeds and their riders alto-
gether. There I found my friend Tattersall of
great service. He procured an excellent type of
the jockey class — a delightful little fellow, who rode
a wooden horse in my studio with all the ease of
rein and whip that would have distinguished a
winner of the Derby. He surprised me by his
endurance of a painful attitude — that of raising
himself in his stirrups and leaning forward, in the
manner of his tribe. This he would do for an hour
at a stretch. I find my diary says :

**Bundy" (the name of the jockey) ''sat for the last
time ; finished the two jockeys, and one in the
distance in his great-coat ; and the little chap and
I shook hands. I to work ; he to the Marquis of
Something at Chantilly."

Before he left me, he informed me that he would
rather ride the wildest horse that ever lived than
mount the wooden one any more. I am indebted to
Herring, one of the best painters of the racehorse
I have ever known, for great assistance in the
very small share the high-mettled racer has in my
work. I grieve to say that my little jockey friend
was soon after killed by a fall from his horse in
France.

My diary for 1857 shows day after day of incessant
work, with exceptions of enforced idleness through
foggy and dark weather. For some time before that
of which I write, I had ceased to paint on Sundays,
believing that one day in seven was required for
rest. I suppose there never was a more industrious

284

''THE DERBY DAY:

painter, or one who produced a greater quantity of
good work, than my old friend Sydney Cooper, R.A.,
whom I once heard say in reply to an inquiry as to
whether he painted on Sundays :

No. If I can't get my living in six days, I
shouldn't manage it in seven."

And putting aside graver reasons for not pursuing
the habit, I would advise all students to set apart
one day in seven for rest. I attribute my long-con-
tinued good health to my perseverance in the practice
that I recommend.

After fifteen months* incessant labour, the Derby
Day" was finished, and sent to the Exhibition of 1858.
It is difficult to put one's finger on the precise spot
where confidence merges into conceit. I acknow-
ledge any amount of conviction that I was doing an
out-of-the-way thing, as the letters that I am about
to quote will prove ; but I deny the conceit, if I
should be charged with it. And when such men as
Maclise and Landseer used expressions of praise
warm enouQ^h to have tried stroncrer heads than
mine, I felt my confidence in the success of my
work was fully justified. As an instance of generous
appreciation I append a note from Maclise :

" 14, Russell Place, Fitzroy Square,
" March 25th, 1858.

My dear Frith,

It will give me great pleasure to join you at
the dinner-hour on Monday.

" I imagine you still very busy at your work

ROYAL CRITICISM.

285

Derby Day'), but only dropping in here and there
little gem-like bits into the beautiful mosaic you have
so skilfully put together.

Believe me,

Faithfully yours,

Danl. Maclise."

The following is an extract from a letter to my
sister, with whom, since my mother's death, I have
kept up a constant correspondence. Under date
March 6, I find this mixture of jest and earnest :

"We shall be delighted to see you at anytime
that you choose to honour us with a visit ; and if you
wish to see the famous picture at all, you must see it
in my own place, for you won't be able to get near
it in the Exhibition. Some people go so far as to
say 'It is the picture of the age,' and no mean
judges are they. However, the die is cast, and
though I shall work incessantly up to the last
moment, nothing that I can do now will make or
mar my work ; and if it is not pre-eminently success-
ful, thus lifting my reputation into the seventh
heaven, I shall burn my books, and fling my wand
into fathomless ocean."

Again, under date May 9, when the picture was
on the walls in Trafalgar Square, I wrote :

When the Queen came into the large room,
instead of, as she invariably did, looking at the
pictures in their order according to the catalogue,
she went at once to mine ; and after a little while
sent for me and complimented me in the highest and

286

''THE DERBY DAY J

kindest manner. She said it * was a wonderful
work/ and much more that modesty prevents my
repeating. Now if I were of a conceited turn, I
might be in danger ; but though I plead guilty to a
good deal of confidence, I am not guilty of conceit,
at any rate in my secret soul ; for I have the meanest
opinion of my own powers compared with those 'glori-
ous old lamps' that have survived criticism, and, as
Sass used to say, ^received the approbation of ages.'"

It was on this occasion that the Prince Consort
surprised me exceedingly by his intimate knowledge
of what I may call ^//e conduct of a picture. He told
me why I had done certain things, and how, if a
certain change had been made, my object would
have been assisted. How the masses of li^ht and
shade might still be more evenly balanced, and how
some parts of the picture might receive still more
completion. I put many of the Prince's suggestions
to the proof after the close of the Exhibition, and I
improved my picture in every instance. There were
several little Princes and Princesses in the Royal
party; and I remember one little boy saying, the
moment he looked at the picture :

*' Oh, mamma, I never saw so many people to-
gether before !"

Nonsense !" said the Queen. You have often
seen many more."

" But not in a picture, mamma."

Again the inevitable diary says :

''May 2.— Private view. All the people crowd
about the * Derby Day.' "

DANGEROUS POPULARITY.

287

May 3. — Opening day of the Exhibition. Never
was such a crowd seen round a picture. The
secretary obhged to get a poHceman to keep the
people off. He is to be there from eight in the
morning. Bell applies to the Council for a rail,
which will not be granted."

Since the foundation of the Academy in 1768, it
had only once been found necessary to protect a
popular picture from possible injury by the presence
of too eager spectators, and that occurred in 1822,
when Wilkie exhibited his famous picture of The
Chelsea Pensioners reading the Gazette of the Battle
of Waterloo." Readers of Wilkie's life may re-
member his extreme difficulty in persuading the
R.A. authorities to afford him the protection his
work so much needed ; they were naturally reluctant
to mark a particular work with such an invidious
proof of its popularity. Academic nature seems to
be the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever ; for
inferior though my work was in all respects to
Wilkie's, it was as much in need of protection, and
I found the same difficulty in procuring it, as the

followinof letters will show. Mr. Bell writes :
<_>

"May 4, 1858.

My dear Frith,

I went to the R.A. this afternoon about
five. The pressure had to some extent subsided,
but there was a policeman still in attendance, and
people three or four deep before the picture. Those
in front had their faces within three or four inches

288

''THE DERBY DAY."

of the canvas. The nature of the picture requires a
close inspection to read, mark, learn, and inwardly
digest it ; and from what I have seen, I think it
not unlikely that some of the readers will leave their
mark upon it, unless means be taken to keep them
at a respectful distance.

Yours truly,

Jacob Bell."

Again, on the following day he writes :
I called at the R.A. this afternoon at four o'clock,
as I was passing, and found the people smelling the
picture like bloodhounds. In the National Gallery,
where I went next to see the new old masters, I
found post and rail very suitable for the protection
of works of art."

Then came a formal appeal to the President and
Council.

" GeNTLExMEN,

" I have just left the Royal Academy, where
I found Mr. Frith s picture in great danger of injury
from the pressure of the crowd. It has been found
necessary to place it under the charge of a policeman,
who can with difficulty preserve it from contact with
the arms and faces of those in the front rank, who
are pressed forward by those behind them. My
object in addressing you is to request, as a great
favour, that, if the laws of the Royal Academy permit,
a rail may be placed before it for the protection of
the pict'jre.

I have the honour to be, sirs,

"Jacob Bell."

THE RAIL PERMITTED.

289

This appeal was successful, and the needed pro-
tection supplied, as my diary shows by entry on

''May 7. — To the Exhibition. Knight tells me
a rail is to be put round my picture. Hooray !"

May 8. — Couldn't help going to see the rail, and
there it is sure enough ; and loads of people."

Apropos of this, I may insert the following
bantering letter to my sister :

" You must really come to town, if it is only to
see a rarity in the annals of exhibitions — no less than
an iron rail round ihe ' Derby Day,' an event that
has occurred once in ninety years. I mean once
before this once, and that was when Wilkie exhibited
* The Chelsea Pensioners,' in 1822. On that oc-
casion, thirteen of the elderly Academicians took to
their beds in fits of bile and envy; and though a few
recovered by steadily refusing medicine, they never
were in good health afterwards. This calamity was
the cause of a resolution on the part of the Academi-
cians in full conclave, that so invidious a distinction
should never, under any circumstances, be made
again ; and when Messrs. Bell and Gambart, the
proprietors of the * Derby Day ' and the copyright
thereof, took oath and said they verily believed their
property was in danger, the Secretary pointed to the
towers of Westminster Abbey, just visible through
the windows, under which repose the ashes of those
distinguished men who fell victim.s to Wilkie, and
then solemnly asked if a similar sacrifice was to be
offered to Frith.

* No/ said that official ; ' rather let the picture

VOL. I. 19

290 ''THE DERBY DAY:'

be scattered to the winds of Trafalgar Square ; but
be not alarmed, we have had popular works here
before. There have been trities by Landseer and
Wilkie against which the public nose has been as
severely rubbed as it is likely to be against the
"Race-course;" and I assure you, on the part of the
President and Council, that though a rail was once
put round a picture of distinguished merit and
popularity, such an unfair distinction " will never
be made again.'

" So spake the Secretary ; but at last it was found
necessary (to be serious, I know not how the matter
came about) to risk the lives of the envious old boys,
for when I went down to the rooms yesterday, I
found my precious work protected by a stout iron
railincr aorainst which broke a tide of anxious
humanity. The oldest frequenter of exhibitions
(like the oldest inhabitant that you have heard of)
says the like of this attraction was never seen ; and
I must say, also, that in all my experience I never
witnessed anything like the conduct of the crowd.
The man who takes the money at the doors says the
receipts are some hundreds more than usual, but
that is owing to the generally attractive character of
the Exhibition. You know I told you I should win
the trick this time, and I have won it, my dear,
without the slightest mistake."

On the whole, my brother artists were compli-
mentary, but there were exceptions. One Academi-
cian of what js called the high-aim " school, by
which is meant a peculiar people who aim high and

CANDID FRIENDS.

291

nearly always miss ; and who very much object to
those who aim much lower and happen to hit — he
said to me, looking at the crowd round my picture :

That thing of yours is very popular; but I intend
to exhibit a work next year that will have a greater
crowd about it than that."

Indeed,'^ said I. And what is your subject ?"
Well, I have not quite fixed on the title yet ; but
I think I shall call it 'Monday Morning at Newgate'
— the hanging morning, you know. I shall have a
man hanging, and the crowd about him. Great
variety of character, you know. I wonder you
never thought of it."

Another of my Academic brethren who had seen
the picture in my studio, and had nearly smothered
me with praise of it to my face, was heard to deliver
his real opinion to a friend in the Exhibition, to
whom he said, pointing to the evidences of the at-
tractiveness of the picture : There is no hope for
art in this country, when the people are so besotted
as to crowd round such a thing as that."

It is very unusual to see livery servants in the
Exhibition. As a rule, their interest in art is not
strong enough to induce them to part with the
necessary shilling for admission. A friend of mine
was startled one day by seeing two grooms, who
had either been sent by their master, or of their own
motive had evidently come to see the " Derby Day,"
for they made their way straight to it ; and without
looking at any other picture they entered the
crowd and passed slowly by the picture, eagerly

19 — 2

292

''THE DERBY DAY:

Studying it. My friend, curious to hear their com-
ments, followed them closely. Not a word was said
till they had thoroughly examined the picture, when
one exclaimed to the other : Call that the Derby ?
It's d d hot ! Come and have a drink."

I suppose there is scarcely a man in a position
that can be called public, who has escaped hearing
something unpleasant about himself from a critic
who is ignorant of the personality of the assailed.

Sir Francis (then Mr.) Grant, the well-known
portrait-painter, told me that he found himself
sitting next to an old gentleman at a large
dinner-party just after the opening of the Annual
Exhibition, when the conversation, to one's sorrow,
is sure to bristle with allusions to the exhibits. From
his neighbours first question, Grant discovered his
ignorance of the name of his fellow-guest.

Are you fond of pictures, sir said the old
gentleman.

Yes," said Grant ; " if they are good ones."

Then take my advice, and don't throw away a
shilling on the Exhibition, for you won't find any
there."

"Oh! but I have been to the Exhibition, and I
can't quite agree with you."

Perhaps you have spent your time better than in
studying modern art ?" said the old critic. I have
had a long experience of it — indeed, I practise it a
little — and I can assure you there is not a good
picture in the place. The portraits are detestable ;
and I really think the Academy should have a

AN AWKWARD POSITION.

293

separate room entirely for those wretched produc-
tions— a kind of ' chamber of horrors,' you know, like
the waxworks in Baker Street.'^

Do you really think so ?" said Grant. They
seemed to me rather above the average."

No, I assure you," was the reply. I couldn't
find a decent thing amongst them ; and as for those
portraits by Grant, they seem as if he had painted
them with whitewash."

This was said in a loud tone, and Grant ob-
served :

" I think you should be a little more cautious in
what you say, for Mr. Grant might be present ; in
fact he is here — he is sitting next to you."

Good gracious ! But how — what " (looking to a
lady on his right) — are you — eh ?"
Yes," said Grant.

When the " Derby Day " was in the Exhibition,
I had a somewhat similar experience. I took a lady
in to dinner, to whom I was introduced of course ;
but she could not have heard my name, for she asked
me exactly the same question as the old gentleman
had asked Grant, and as well as I can remember, I
made a similar reply. My lady friend then pro-
ceeded to enlighten me as to the merits and
demerits of many of the more notable pictures in the
Exhibition ; and she showed quite a remarkable
knowledge of the good and bad qualities of the
various works. She was really a very sincere lover
of art ; and from my constantly agreeing with nearly
all she said, she was under the impression that I was

294

''THE DERBY DAY:

deriving knowledge that would help me at other
dinner-tables, besides opening my mind to previously
unobserved beauties. After giving me a sort of
lecture, she said suddenly, By the way, there is a
picture which we have not discussed yet. You must
have seen it — I mean that representation of a race-
course. I hope we shall agree in our estimate of
that, as we have in so many instances. Now, to me,
what is called the ' Derby Day ' is in a very low
style of art — it is vulgar. Perhaps you may say
such a scene is necessarily vulgar. There I should
join issue with you. A refined painter w^ould have
elevated the scene, have filled it with life and
character ; have given grace and beauty even to
women who go to Epsom. All these qualities are
conspicuous by their absence in Mr. Frith's picture.
It is ill drawn, flat, and poor in the painting of it,"
etc., etc.

As my critic ran on, I felt the sincerest pity for
her, for I made up my mind that I must confess
myself to be the author of the maligned production ;
and this I did in a bungling fashion enough, for I
said: I am sorry you don't like it, for I painted it."

Never, never shall I forget that poor lady's distress.
I tried to help her, I forget how, but I know I tried.
Then she was unfortunate, for she fled from her
colours.

" Of course," she stuttered, " I really had no idea
— but then, of course, it is a very clever picture ; but
I confess I don't like the subject."

" No more do I," I declared ; "but then you must

EGG AND HIS CRITIC.

295

not quarrel with copper because it is not gold. If I
attempted history, or what you call high art, I should
make a greater fool of myself than I am generally
considered to be."

Of course you would."
And with this remark our art talk closed. We
afterwards became fast friends, and my lady critic
became a frequent visitor on Show-Sundays ; and
though she had no sympathy with my art, being
tainted with pre-Raphaelitism, she often showed as
much acuteness in her remarks as many a profes-
sional critic.

One more example of sincere opinion, and I leave
the subject. My friend Egg, R.A., was a constant
exhibitor, so long as his delicate health would permit;
and one private-view day he was seen leaning on
the arm of a friend, when a gentleman — a stranger to
Egg — approached the man who was Egg's temporary
support, saying :

" I can't agree with you about the Exhibition ; it
seems to me much below the average. And as to
your friend Egg's pictures, I think they are beastly."

That is a very unfortunate remark, for this is
Mr. Egg."

"So it is — I am sorry. Well, I will go and look
again ; I may have been hasty in my judgment."
Presently the gentleman returned, and said :
" Well, Mr. Egg, I need scarcely say that if I had
known who you were I should have been reticent in
my remarks. I apologize ; but I am sorry to say I
cannot change my opinion."

296

''THE DERBY DAY:'

I confess I prefer this finale to the one adopted
by my lady friend.

The attraction of the " Derby Day" continued up
to the closing of the Exhibition, and after being re-
turned to me and receiving some finishing-touches,
it was sent to Paris, where it was admirably en-
graved by Blanchard. The picture then left this
country for its travels abroad, first to the Antipodes,
then to America, and amongst other places to
Vienna, w^herc it procured me the honour of election
to the Austrian Academy. The success of the
" Derby Day " confirmed me in my determination to
paint the life about me ; but then came the terrible
difificulty of finding a satisfactory subject. As a stop-
gap, I began a small picture of a lady waiting to cross
a street, with a little boy crossing-sweeper besieging
her in the usual fashion. A model for the lady was
easily found, and there was a large field of selection
open to me as regarded the boy. I discovered a
young gentleman with closely-cropped hair, naked
feet, and a wonderful broom — in all respects what I
desired, except in regard of honesty ; and for a
further description of this young person and his
unsuccessful attempt to rob me, I must refer my
reader to my chapters on Models." I may note
here the impression the youth made upon me at his
first sitting. In my diary under date 17th July, I find :

"A low, dLill Irish boy for crossing-sweeper, one
degree removed from a pig. Found great difficulty ;
rubbed in the head and figure."

From long study of the human face divine," I

" THE INDEX rO THE MINDJ'

297

have acquired — or think I have — a knowledge of
the character and disposition that certain features
and expressions betray. First of all, the features seem
to lend themselves to particular indulgences, which,
being cherished, mark many faces indelibly. To
illustrate my theory, I relate the following facts :

A very eminent artist friend and I were sum-
moned as witnesses to the Old Bailey. It was the
first day of session, and the prisoners were what is
called arraigned. That proceeding consists in
placing ten or a dozen of them in the dock together,
whilst an officer of the Court reads over the dif-
ferent charges — leaving his hearers without any clue
as to the perpetrator of a special crime. Amongst
the charges w^as one of a peculiarly dreadful character;
and when the prisoners had all left the dock, I said
to my friend :

Have you made up your mind which it was of
that set who committed that terrible thing

Yes," said he ; " the parson, I think."
''That is the man," said I.

The parson was a gentlemanly-looking young
man, rather handsome, but with the trail of the
serpent palpable over his animal face. Curiously,
he was the first to be placed upon trial ; he was
defended with admirable skill by one of the most
eminent barristers, and acquitted ; but our conviction
of his guilt remained unshaken. A year or two
after the trial I found myself in the company of a
solicitor whose name, if I were to mention it, would
be known to most of my readers. Our conversation

298

''THE DERBY DAY:

turned on my favourite theory. Rubbish,'* said
the solicitor; there's nothing in it."

Whereupon I proceeded to relate my Old Bailey
experience, carefully avoiding any mention of the
name of the suspected clergyman. I was listened to
attentively, and when I had finished my story, the
solicitor said :

Was the man's name So-and-so

" It was," said I, greatly surprised.
Ah !" said the lawyer, " the fellow was guilty.
We instructed P , and he knew it. The clergy-
man is now undergoing five years' penal servitude for
a similar offence."

My litde crossing-sweeper's face warned me not to
leave him alone in my painting-room ; I neglected
the warning, with the consequences related elsewhere.

I find I was occupied at this time on a picture
intended for an artist friend, whose career was some-
what remarkable. I made the acquaintance of my
friend — whom I will call Macllray, a Scotchman— in
Paris; when I was studying in the Louvre, in 1840.
I was attracted by his pleasant manners, and by
some excellent copying on which he was occupied.
Like many of his countrymen he was not over-
burdened with riches, but he seemed to have a good
prospect of creating some by the exercise of his pro-
fession. On my return to London I introduced
Macllray to the set of young men with whom I was
intimate, and he became a great favourite with all of
us. He had scarcely had time to make a mark in the
Exhibition when a singular piece of good fortune

ARTIST AND LAIRD.

299

befell him. He had painted several portraits, and
amono^st his sitters was a charming widow who pos-
sessed in her own right six thousand a year. They
bewitched one another, and immediate marriage was
the result. There is no blessing, I suppose, that is
quite unalloyed, and the drawback to my friend's
perfect bliss was the impossibility of a Scottish laird
— with all the duties connected with the position,
being able to devote himself to a profession which
requires all a man's energies to insure success. But
if Macllray could no longer paint, he could be the
cause of painting in others ; and this took the kind
and graceful form of commissions for pictures to all
his friends. The price to be paid for each work was a
hundred guineas. We might take what subject we
pleased, but each picture must contain a portrait of the
artist painted by himself. I think every one, in course
of time, executed Macllray's order ; and I hear that
the pictures are intended eventually to become the
nucleus of a national collection in a Scottish town.
I hear also that under careful manacrement the six
thousand a year has been transformed into nearly
double that amount; and if my old friend — who
will easily recognise himself under the pseudonym I
have used — should read these lines, I hope he will
forgive the introduction of them for the sake of ''auld
lang syne."

So convinced was I that I should henceforth
devote myself entirely to modern -life subjects that I
was on the point of getting rid of a rather large
collection of costumes of all ao^es. It was well I did

300

''THE DERBY DAY:'

not, for I have found great use for them in these
latter days.

My summer holiday of 1858 was spent at Wey-
mouth, where, with work and play, I had what the
Yankees call ''a good time." I was very fond of
shooting in those days, and having many friends in
the neighbourhood of Weymouth I took my fill of
sport of all kinds, including one day's hunting which
I shall never forget. In my youth I had been
accustomed to riding, and by the advice of my
doctor, who thought horse-exercise good for all who
could get it, I bought a horse which, if not
thorough-bred, had all the exuberance of spirit
with which that class of animal is credited. If my
work had occupied me till it was too late to ride, or
if the weather made that exercise impossible, my
horse — or, to speak correctly, my mare — became so
excited by the prospect of a canter, as to make the
avoidance of the vehicles that crowd Westbourne
Grove a matter of difficulty. This and other pecu-
liarities caused our parting eventually, without regret
on my side, after several unsuccessful attempts on the
part of the mare to break my neck. She accompanied
me to Weymouth, and she took me out hunting,
regardless of my disinclination for that popular sport,
as I shall proceed to show. I went to see the
hounds thrown off," as it is called, which, being
interpreted, signifies the discovery and immediate
pursuit of a fox — the hounds being followed by what
is called " the field," meaning just as many of the
lookers-on as choose to follow to the death. I had

A HUNTSMAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.

301

no intention whatever of joining the pursuers, but my
mare was of a different disposition. I was in the
saddle quietly smoking and talking to a friend, when
a terrific noise burst upon us. The yelping of dogs,
halloing of men, horn-blowing, together with the
galloping of horses in every direction, nearly
maddened me, and quite maddened my mare. Away
went my cigar, she reared, she plunged, she flew this
way and that, as if doubtful of the proper direction,
till, seemingly making up her mind, she tore at a
furious pace after a crowd of riders, into whose
midst she carried me in spite of all my efforts to stop
her ; in fact, I lost all control of the creature, and
never regained it until the hunting was over, late in
the afternoon. Never can I forget the six hours'
agony I spent on that wretch's back ; and then the
advice those red-coated villains kept giving me :

Keep her head straight, sir ! Don't pull her ;
that will never do."

''Give her her head and let her go; take that
fence and ditch, that will take it out of her."

" You shouldn't have come out to hounds on a
green horse."

" That gent on the chestnut will come to grief, by
G— !"

" You would really be safer inside, sir."
" Get off and lead her."

" Really, sir, you must get out of the way ; back
her into the cover."

"If that gentleman does not get out of the way I
shall ride over him, as sure as the devil's in London!"

302

''THE DERBY DAVr

These remarks and compliments were made to me
by a series of red ruffians when I was in a condition
of pallor and perspiration, striving, with every nerve
that remained to me, to keep my seat and get out of
their confounded way. I vowed most solemnly that
if I were permitted to see the high-road again I
would never leave it for furze-bushes and turnip-
fields, from which my despairing eyes could see no
exit but over a hedge ; hideous swamps full of con-
cealed holes, difficult enough to ride over on a horse
in its right mind by a dare-devil with no family ties —
how perilous, then, for a timid man on an infuriated
beast, with the conviction staring him in the face
that any moment might see his wife and family
deprived of their natural protector !

To this hour it is a wonder to me that I didn't
break my neck. Often and often during that terrible
day I was more off the mare than on her — at one
moment thrown forward on to her neck, at another
nearly slipping off her tail. I had the courage of
despair, for I knew that if I were thrown the hunters
would ride over me with pleasure ; and if that
casualty had befallen me in one of those covers, they
must have done so, for the rides — as they call pas-
sages about as wide as a good front-door — made it
almost impossible for two people on horseback to
pass each other, and those fellows rode as if they
were possessed. The huntsman galloped past me
and actually blew his filthy horn into my horse's
ears. She tossed up her head and struck me a
violent blow on the nose, and so confused me that I

A NARROW ESCAPE.

303

thought I must have gone then ; one foot was out of
the stirrup, and I gave myself up for lost. But the
good little cherub that sits somewhere or other had
an eye upon me, and I live to tell the tale, and to
" make a vow and keep it strong," that I will never
again put myself in the position of having to follow
the hounds.

CHAPTER XXII.

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS.

In the fragment of English history left to us by
Macaulay, an account may be found of a celebrated
highwayman called Claude Duval — a handsome
youth who managed to disgrace himself and a good
family, of which he was the offshoot, by ruinous dis-
sipation of every kind, ending by taking to the
road " at the head of a formidable gang. The young-
fellow had been page to the Duke of Richmiond,
whose fatherly attempts to reclaim him were fruitless.
The story goes that on a wild heath, a carriage in
which the beautiful Lady Aurora Sydney was tra-
velling was stopped by Duval's gang, the trunks-
were plundered, and a booty of four hundred pounds
secured ; but a portion of the plunder was restored,
on condition of the lady dancing a coranto on the
heath with Captain Duval. The dramatic character
of the subject attracted me. I thought if I could
succeed in retaining the beauty of the lady, combined
with the terror that she would feel, I should perform
a feat well worthy of achievement. The dresses of
the period were very picturesque ; the contrast

DANCING THE CORA N TO.

305

between the robbers, and the lady and her com-
panions, would be very striking ; and the lumbering
carriage, with its complement of heavy Flanders
horses, might combine to make a satisfactory picture.
In the absence of a modern -life inspiration, I
proceeded with the preliminary drawings and the
oil-sketch for Claude Duval. The time unoccu-
pied by shooting and hunting during my Weymouth
holiday was devoted to a careful oil-study. I have
often pondered over the varied knowledge that an
artist must acquire to enable him to master the diffi-
culties that each fresh subject presents. No doubt
human nature is always the same, but manners are
for ever changing ; those of two hundred years ago
are quite unlike those of to-day. By reading and
thinking the student should endeavour to identify
himself with a bygone time. Customs also may be
learnt from many authorities ; so, with much diffi-
culty, may the dresses be studied in which our
ancestors lived and moved. To enable me to
struggle successfully with my contemplated subject,
this variety of information must be acquired. What
is the dance called the Coranto For some time
I could learn nothing about it ; no such dance, or
anything like it, exists at the present time. In my
trouble I applied to an authority in old-world cos-
tumes— Mr. Fairholt — who most kindly supplied me
with the description of the dance, accompanied by
drawings of the performers ; and though engravings
of the carriages used in the days of Charles II. were
plentiful, it was desirable to find the thing itself, if
VOL. I. 20

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS.

such a discovery were possible. I have forgotten
who it was that told me I might find a carriage
nearly, if not quite, as old as the days of the "merry
monarch," at Cobham Park, the seat of Lord Darnley,
to whom I immediately wTOte for permission to make
a sketch of it, if the news of his being possessed of
such a relic were true. I here quote from a letter
written to my sister at the time :

Lord Darnley was very civil, and sent me per-
mission. I went and found the quaintest old thing
you can conceive, all begilt and carved, w^ith such
great leather straps and buckles, and the queerest
seat for the driver and for the footmen behind. To
think of the old carriage outliving its occupants so
long! How they must have gone to Court in it, in
their flounces, swords, and ruffles. There it is, and
here they are not. Such is life, as Mrs. Gamp hath
it."

I painted the "blasted heath " from a study made
in Dorsetshire, where I also found the withered tree
which plays a prominent part in the composition of
the picture. I have elsewhere told the student to go
to nature for every detail in his picture ; I cannot
repeat the advice too often, that no dependence
should be placed on memory whilst a possibility
exists of referring direcdy to nature. The picture
proceeded pretty satisfactorily, and was purchased
during its progress by Mr. Flatow, the picture-dealer,
at the agreeable price of seventeen hundred pounds —

''CLAUDE DUVAL:

307

which sum also included the sketch and copyright.
The worthy dealer is described elsewhere. Of this
picture I may add that it was very soon placed," to
use the common phrase, with a Mr. Grapel, whose
passion for it speedily cooled ; for he parted from it
with advantage to his pocket, I believe — in favour of
I know not whom — not long after it became his pro-
perty.

The year 1859 was mainly devoted to the picture
of Claude Duval," but there were many interrup-
tions from the necessity of my keeping promises
respecting small pictures. It was at this time that
John Forster called upon me to paint a portrait of
his friend Dickens. I need scarcely say with what
delight, mixed with fear, I heard of this commission
— delight because of my veneration for the author,
and my love for the man ; fear that I might fail, as
so many had done already. Forster had hinted his
wish to me a year or two before, when Dickens had
adopted the moustache — a hirsute appendage of
which Forster had a great horror ; and with reason,
as regarded Dickens, for it partly covered, and cer-
tainly injured, a very handsome and characteristic
mouth. This is a whim — the fancy will pass. We
will wait till the hideous disfigurement is removed,"
said Forster; but we waited in vain. Indeed, we
waited till the beard was allowed to grow upon the
chin as well as upon the upper lip, so, fearing that if
we waited longer there would be little of the face to
be painted, if whiskers were to be added to the rest,
the order was given and the portrait begun. As I

20 — 2

3o8 PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS.

had heard that portrait-painters had often derived
advantage from photography, I asked Dickens to
give me a meeting at Mr. Watkins's, who was
thought one of the best photographers of that day.
Apropos of this arrangement came the following
from Dickens :

" Gads Hill,

"Sunday, January 4, 1859.

My dear Frith,

I want to stay here a week longer than I
proposed to myself, in order that I may have leisure
and quiet to consider something I am turning in my
mind. I hope, therefore, it will not put you out if
I suggest that it would be a great convenience to me
to have our appointment with Watkins for Monday
week instead of Monday.

Ever very faithfully yours,

" Charles Dickens."

Again, on the 12th he writes :

" My dear Frith,

" At eleven on Monday morning next the
gifted individual whom you will transmit to posterity
will be at Watkins's. Table also shall be there, and
chair — velvet coat likewise, if the tailor should have
sent it home. But the garment is more to be
doubted than the man whose signature here
follows.

^ ^' Faithfully yours always,

" Charles Dickens."

A CHARACTERISTIC EXPRESSION.

309

And on the 19th he says :

My dear Frith,

The ' properties ' shall be ready, and nothing
shall scare the undersigned, whose faith is great.

Ever faithfully,

''C. D."

In due course the photograph was taken ; but not
very successfully, nor did I derive the slightest
assistance from it in the prosecution of the portrait.
The change in Dickens's appearance that had taken
place during the twenty-five years that had elapsed
since Maclise had painted him so admirably, was
very striking. The sallow skin had become florid,
the long hair of 1835 had become shorter and darker,
and the expression settled into that of one who had
reached the topmost rung of a very high ladder, and
was perfectly aware of his position. I find the first
entry of Dickens's sittings under date

''/aji. 21. — Arranged Dickens's portrait till he came
at 1.30. He sat delightfully. I drew his head m
outline, he talking all the while. The result will be
successful."

Then, next day :

Dickens again. Miss Hogarth and his daughter
came with him, and remained two and a half hours.
Got in the head in colours. Dickens most pleasant.
No wonder people like him."

Friday, Jan, 28. — Dickens came at 12. A good
and long sitting. Feel quite assured of success."

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS.

Between Maclise's picture and my own, many-
portraits of Dickens had been taken, most of them —
indeed, according to the sitter himself, all of them —
absolute failures. I was curious with regard to one
which I knew had been begun, but not finished, by
an eminent Academician ; and during one of the
sittings to me, I inquired the reason of the delay.

"Well, the truth is," said Dickens, " I sat a great
many times. At first the picture bore a strong
resemblance to Ben Caunt " (a prize-fighter of that
day); ''then it changed into somebody else; and at last
I thought it was time to give it up, for I had sat
there and looked at the thing till I felt 1 was growing
like it."

On our conversation turning on the preconceived
idea that people always entertain of celebrities in
literature or art, to whose personal appearance they
are strangers, he said he had had frequent expe-
rience of the dismay which seemed to take posses-
sion of persons on their first introduction to him.
" And they occasionally allow their disappointment
to take the form of positive objection. For in-
stance," said he — Scheffer, who is a big man, I
believe, in your line — said, the moment he saw me,
' You are not at all like what I expected to see you ;
you are like a Dutch skipper.' i\s for the picture
he did of me, I can only say that it is neither like
me nor a Dutch skipper."

In my own small way I told him I had had a
similar experience, for on being introduced to a
North-country art patron, he said :

SAM WELLER MISUNDERSTOOD.

" You don't look a bit like an artist. I should
have put you down for a well-to-do farmer."

Yes," rejoined Dickens, and then they look at
you as if it was your fault — and one for which you
deserve to be kicked — because you fail to realize their
ideal of what you ought to be."

It was at this time that Dickens commenced the
public readings of his works, and they became im-
mediately very popular as well as profitable. I
availed myself of his offer of tickets of admission to
Hanover Square Rooms, and heard him read the
trial from Pickwick," and from some other novel,
the name of which I forget. It seems a bold thing
for me to say, but I felt very strongly that the
author had totally misconceived the true character
of one of his own creations. In reading the humorous
repartees and quaint sayings of Sam Weller, Dickens
lowered his voice to the tones of one who was rather
ashamed of what he was saying, and afraid of being
reproved for the freedom of his utterances. I failed
in being able to reconcile myself to such a render-
ing of a character that of all others seemed to me
to call for an exactly opposite treatment. Sam
is self-possessed, quick, and never-failing in his
illustrations and rejoinders, even to the point of
impudence.

When I determined to tell the great author that he
had mistaken his own work, I knew I should be
treading on dangerous ground. But on the occa-
sion of a sitting, when my victim was more than
ever good-tempered, I unburthened my mind, giv-

312

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS.

ing reasons for my objections. Dickens listened,
smiled faintly, and said not a word. A few days
after this my friend Elmore asked my opinion of
the readings, telling me he was going to hear them,
and I franklv warned him that he would be dis-
appointed with the character of Sam Weller. A few
days more brought a call from Elmore, who roundly
abused me for giving him an utterly false account of
the Weller episode.

Why," he said, the sayings come from Dickens
like pistol-shots ; there was no * sneaking ' way of
talking, as you described it."

*'Can it be possible," thought I, ''that this man,
who, as it is told of the great Duke of Wellington,
never took anybody's opinion but his own, has
adopted from my suggestion a rendering of one of
the children of his brain diametrically opposed to his
own conception of it ?"

At the next sitting all was explained, for on my
telling Dickens what Elmore had said, with a twinkle
in his eye which those who knew him must so well
remember, he replied :

*' I altered it a little — made it smarter."

"You can't think how proud I feel," said I, "and
surprised, too; for from my knowledge of you, and
from what I have heard from other people, you
are about the last man to take advice about any-
thing, least of all about the way of reading your own
books."

"On the contrary," was the reply, "whenever I
am wrong I am obliged to anyone who will tell me

TAVISTOCK HOUSE.

313

of it ; but up to the present I have never been
wrong."

The portrait had progressed to the time when it
was necessary to consider what the background
should be, and I thought it best to discard the com-
mon curtain and column arrangement, and substitute
for these well-worn properties the study in which
the writer worked, with whatever accident of sur-
rounding that might present itself. Accordingly I
betook myself to Tavistock House, and was installed
in a corner of the study from whence I had a view
of Dickens as he sat writing under the window, his
desk and papers, with a framed address to him —
from Birmingham, I think — together with a book-
case, etc., making both back and fore ground. The
first chapter of the " Tale of Two Cities," or rather
a small portion of it, lay on the desk. After what
appeared to me a vast deal of trouble on the part of
the writer, muttering to himself, walking about the
room, pulling his beard, and making dreadful faces,
he still seemed to fail to satisfy himself with his work.
I think he seldom if ever wrote after two o'clock ;
never, at least, when I was at Tavistock House.
With Dickens's permission I used to read the early
sheets of the new novel as they lay upon his desk.
On one of the few occasions on which I got to work
before him, I saw upon the table a paper parcel with
a letter on the top of it. From the shape I guessed
that it contained books, as the event proved. Pre-
sently Dickens came in, read the letter, and handed
it to me, saying:

314

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS.

Here you are again ! This is the kind of thing I
am subject to ; people send me their books, and
what is more, they require me to read them ; and
what is almost as bad. demand my opinion of them.
Read that."

I obeyed, and read what appeared to me a very
well-written appeal to the great master in the art, of
which the writer was a very humble disciple, etc.,
begging for his perusal of the accompanying work,
and his judgment upon it, and so on. The work
was " Adam Bede," and the writer's name was
George Eliot. Dickens took up one of the
volumes, looked into it, and said : " Seems clever —
a good style ; suppose I must read it."

And read it he did that very day, for the next
morning he said :

" That's a very good book, indeed, by George Eliot.
But unless I am mistaken, G. Eliot is a woman."

It was about this time that Dickens bought the
property at Gads Hill, near Rochester — the re-
puted locality of the famous Falstaff robbery — upon
which his longing youthful eyes had been cast so
many years before. My first visit to the new house
— where Dickens and his family had gone for Christ-
mas— was paid in December, 1858. The day was
wet and dreary, but we passed it agreeably in talk
and bagatelle ; the players being Wilkie Collins and
myself, with Dickens and Gordon — most genial of
Scotchmen and Sheriff of Midlothian — for opponents.

When the portrait was finished Gordon came to
see it. He walked into my painting-room with his

A LION'S BITE.

315

arm in a sling. Gordon had the national love of
whisky, and my first thought was that gout had
supervened, and I said as much.
No," said Gordon ; " a bite."

" And what has bitten you ?"'

" A lion," was the reply.

It appeared that on the occasion of a visit of
Wombwell's Menagerie to Edinburgh, Gordon had
chaperoned some ladies, and while talking to them
he amused himself by rubbing the nose of a sleeping
lion. The animal opened his mouth, to yawn,
Gordon thought ; and in shutting it, somehow or
other Gordon's hand was enclosed, and the lion's
teeth passed through it. The position was alarming
enough, but Gordon's presence of mind was equal to
the occasion. With his left hand he continued gently
rubbing the still sleeping brute's nose. The lion
yawned again, and the Sheriff withdrew his hand,
but only just in time, for, to use Gordon's own
words, The beast's teeth had passed between the
bones of the hand, completely through it, and he had
begun in a sleepy way to move his jaws ; and in
another instant I should have been too late, for, as I
removed my hand, he opened his eyes."

Dickens capped this experience with another
instance of extraordinary stupidity. Being at the
Zoological Gardens, he was startled by cries and
shouting at the bears' den. A man was at the lower
door of the den — now covered by a strong grating —
screaming with pain and terror ; he had offered one
of the bears a bun, the bun was accepted, and the

3i6

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS.

man's fingers with it. As Dickens hurried towards
the man, two keepers arrived at the same moment.
The bear held the bun and fingers with an obstinacy
quite immovable by the blows showered upon his
nose. No time for hot irons, so after a very brief
consultation the two strong keepers put their arms
round the unfortunate man's waist and tore him
away, leaving the bun and the first joints of his
fingers in the possession of the bear.

When Dickens was sitting to me, he mentioned
the intention of his publishers to issue a library
edition of his works, with two steel illustrations to
each volume. I beq-Q^ed him to allow me to be one
of the illustrators ; and I chose Little Dorrit,"
from which I painted two small pictures, afterwards
admirably engraved by Stocks, I think. The great
pleasure that I felt in the anticipation of once more
trying my hand in realizing the characters of the
author was my sole motive in making this proposal.
The pictures found purchasers immediately. Great
was my delight, then, when I received the whole of
the library edition with To W. P. Frith, with the
regard of the author," pasted into the first volume.
Lovers of Dickens will understand with what care
these books are treasured. I can only remember
one unfavourable criticism of my portrait of Dickens,
and that was by a lady who knew him well. She
met me in the Exhibition, where she saw the
likeness for the first time, and she greeted me
with, " What has Dickens done to you that you
should paint him like that ?"

JOHN FORSTER SATISFIED.

317

She deigned no explanation, and to this moment
I don't know what she meant, except to be disagree-
able, and in that she succeeded. However, I was
amply compensated by the universal approval of all
Dickens's family and friends — Stone, Egg. Leech,
Mark Lemon, and Shirley Brooks, etc., etc. — who
said, At last we have the real man ;" and best
satisfied of all w^as John Forster. Forster was a
gruff man with the kindest heart in the world, as the
correspondence printed elsewhere goes far to prove ;
and I now take leave of him with heartfelt recoQ^ni-
tion of the generous praise that cheered me during
my work, and of the noble liberality with which it
was rewarded.

The portrait was admirably engraved by Mr.
Barlow, R.A., and is now in the South Kensington
Museum.

Claude Duval " made slow but satisfactory pro-
gress. My diary for the last day of the year 1859 tells
that I painted " Bit of distance right well. Branch
of tree. Painted by gaslight. I am doing the most
successful picture of its class that I have ever done
— better in art than the ' Derby Day but it will
not be so popular by a long way."

The prophecy conveyed in the above proved true.
So great was the demand for modern art a quarter
of a century ago, that copies of successful pictures —
and sometimes of unsuccessful ones — were in great
demand. I found myself included amongst the
popular men to such a degree, that scarcely one
of my more important works escaped what Scheffer

3i8

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS.

called being ''bred from." Large and small replicas
— to give them a fine name — were made ; but in no
instance without the consent of the owners of the
original pictures. Mr. Price, of Queen Anne Street,
possesses an important copy of " Claude Duval " —
the original is now in the possession of Mr. Fielden,
at Doburgh Castle, Todmorden. The critics Vv^ere
severe upon poor " Claude." I forget the words of
their objurgations ; but I remember the advice of
one of them, which was that I should devote myself
to the illustration of the " Newgate Calendar," with
some compliments as to the fitness of my art and me
for the office.

I think the only popular painter who kept himself
free from the vice of copying was Edwin Landseer,
with whom I had become intimate at this time. He
was the greatest animal painter that ever lived ; and
his figures occasionally were scarcely inferior to his
brutes. From his early youth he had been ad-
mitted to the highest society, and no wonder, for
in addition to his genius, which was exercised again
and again for the "great," either in ornamenting
their scrap-books or in the more important form of
pictures — for w^hich he was very inadequately paid —
he was the most delightful story-teller, and the most
charming companion in the world. He also sang
delightfully. In speaking, he had caught a little of
the drawl affected in high life, and he practised it
till it became a second nature. He w^as, of course,
entirely free from envy of others ; and conscious of
his own shortcomings in his art, as a remark I once

EDWIN LANDSEER.

319

heard him make will prove. If people only knew
as much about painting as I do," he said, "they would
never buy my pictures."

His rapidity of execution was extraordinary. In
the National Gallery there is a picture of two
spaniels of what is erroneously called the Charles II.
breed (the real dog of that time is of a different form
and breed altogether, as may be seen in pictures of the
period), the size of life, with appropriate accompani-
ments, in two days. An empty frame had been sent
to the British Institution, where it was hung on the
wall, waiting for its tenant — a picture of a lady with
dogs — till Landseer felt the impossibility of finishing
the picture satisfactorily. Time had passed, till two
days only remained before the opening of the Exhibi-
tion. Something must be done ; and in the time
named those wonderfully lifelike little dogs were
produced.

A still more extraordinary instance may be men-
tioned. Landseer was staying at Redleaf, the
delightful seat of Mr. Wells, who, with all his love
for artists, objected to their painting on Sunday.
Landseer may have had an equal objection to going
to church; anyway, he took advantage of Mr. Wells's
absence on that laudable errand, to paint a picture
of a dog — the size of life — with a rabbit in its mouth.
This picture was begun as Mr. Wells started for his
mile-and-a-quarter walk to church, and finished just
as he returned, the whole time occupied being a little
over two hours. On the trunk of a tree in the back-
ground is an inscription recording the feat.

120

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS.

The British Gallery was a favourite place of ex-
hibition with Landseer, many of whose less important
works were shown there. Amongst the rest I re-
member one of a hare attacked by a stoat ; the stoat
had caught the hare by the throat, and one could
almost hear the screams of the poor creature in its
hopeless resignation to its fate. I do not know who
may be the happy owner of that splendid work, but
if he should happen to read these lines and will then
look at the back of his picture, he will find a criticism
of the picture, which is unique, or nearly so, in the
annals of that science. It is to the following effect :

"In Mr. Landseer's picture of a rabbit attacked
by a weasel, it appears to us that the rabbit is more
like a hare, and the weasel has none of the charac-
teristics of that species of vermin, for it is more like
a stoat."

The whole of the hall of Mr. Wells's residence
was filled by the hand of Landseer — every variety
of game, from the red-deer to the snipe, found its
exponent in the great painter. When a pheasant
was shot, its attitude was carefully preserved by bits
of moss or pebbles, so that it might stiffen in death,
and thus become a true model for the painter.
When a partridge or a wild-duck fell, similar means
were taken to secure results, of which most faithful
transcripts filled the hall. Besides possessing pic-
tures by nearly all the best modern painters, Mr.
Wells had a very fine collection of old masters ; and
the gardens attached to the house were as remark-
able as the contents of it. As the custodian of both,

''TIGER WELLSJ

321

Mr. Wells was even more difficult of approach by
strangers than Mr. Sheepshanks. Living within
easy distance of Tunbridge Wells, he found it neces-
sary to arm himself against intruding excursionists,
more especially after the railway was made. He
told me he was called Tiger Wells," he was
thankful to say, and he should always show his claws
to anybody who ventured too near his den. I was
witness to one example of the tiger-nature which
amused me, and may amuse my readers. A car-
riage filled with ladies, and attended by some gentle-
men on horseback, was driven up to the Redleaf
front-door. The chief occupant of the carriage was

Lady , well known in London society. The

gentlemen were all of the upper ten, most of them
known only by sight to Mr. Wells. The door was
opened by David, Mr. Wells's old servant ; he was
instructed to utter the usual formula, Not at home,"
by Mr. Wells himself, who waited in the hall to see
the result.

" Not at home," was announced to Lady by

an aristocratic horseman.

Never mind," said the lady. Shall we see the
gardens first, or would you like to take the pictures,
and then the flowers ?"

Before Lady could quite finish her directions

Mr. Wells approached the carriage, and said, in a
peremptory voice :

''Mr. Wells is not at home, madam !"

*' Oh !" said the lady ; dear me ! Then I sup-
pose we must go back !"

VOL. I. 21

322 PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS.

Mr. Wells made his best bow, and the party
departed.

To return to Landseer. Our intimacy had ex-
tended to the point of frequent dinner-meetings here
and elsewhere. At this house he was always a
welcome and honoured guest ; but he had adopted
a habit of keeping other guests waiting. It was
usually at least half an hour after everybody else had
arrived before he made his appearance. For any
man to keep ladies waiting has always seemed to me
a detestable practice, and though I had the greatest
respect and love for Landseer, I determined to read
him a lesson ; so after suffering from these practices
several times, I resolved never to wait a moment
for him again. The consequence of this reso-
lution was that the next dinner to which he had
engaged himself to us was nearly half over when he
walked into the dining-room, making profuse apo-
logies for his " unavoidable " want of punctuality.
Many and many a time did the delightful raconteur
dine with us afterwards ; he was always the first to
arrive, and, with watch in hand, he would attack
some tardy visitor — if he knew him well enough —
and would say : " Look here, there is no rudeness
equal to that of keeping ladies waiting for their
dinners."

On one occasion our after-dinner talk turned upon
the love of money, and as there were no very elderly
people present, we all agreed that avarice was the
vice of age ; and some one spoke of the great Duke
of Wellington, then living, as an example.

THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

323

No," said Landseer ; ''whoever says that knows
nothing of the Duke. I know him well, and I say
he is the very reverse of avaricious."

He then proceeded to give us an instance of his
liberality. Landseer painted a picture of the lion-
tamer, Van Amburgh; a large work representing the
interior of a den of lions and tigers, amongst whom
the man lay in apparent security. The artist was
left with a free hand as to price ; and when on the
completion of the picture, in reply to the Duke's
inquiry, Landseer told him the price would be six
hundred guineas, the Duke wrote out a cheque for
twelve. I could tell you many more instances of
his liberality," said the painter.

The great Duke, being human, was no doubt the
victim of weaknesses, one of which — a very small
one — consisted in the conviction that he could name
every picture in the Apsley House collection without
reference to the catalogue. So long as the pictures
followed in regular sequence, and were named one
after another in order, the effort of memory was
successful ; but if the narrator were called back, by
the forgetfulness of the visitor, to any special picture,
he was at fault ; and without beginning again with
the first picture in the room, he could not give the
information asked for.

*' I beg your pardon, sir ; who did you say that
was ?" said Landseer to the Duke, on the occasion
of a visit to Apsley House, at the same time pointing
to a half-length portrait of a sour-looking woman in
the costume of the time of Elizabeth.

.21 — 2

324

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS.

The Duke looked up at the picture, muttered
something, and left the room.

While the Duke was absent, Landseer studied
other pictures, and had pretty well forgotten all
about the sour-looking lady, when a voice close to
his ear exclaimed, Bloody Mary !"

The only true resemblance of the great Duke,
in his later years, is in Landseer s picture of the

Visit to Waterloo," where the Duke is supposed
to be describing to Lady Douro, his son's wife, an
incident of the battle. It is the vera effigies of the
man. I happened to be by when the Duke and
Miss Burdett Coutts were looking at the picture in
Trafalgar Square, and heard the great Captain say,
looking at the portrait of Lady Douro : That's
quite shocking !" which it was indeed, as Landseer
acknowledged ; and, said he, " I wonder the Duke is
any better, for he only sat half an hour."

It was interesting to see the great man looking at
pictorial renderings of his exploits ; they frequently
figured on the Academy walls. Sir William Allan
painted two, which appeared in the same Exhibition :
one represented the Duke riding over the field
of Waterloo by moonlight, when he is said to have
" shed iron tears ;" the other a frustrated attempt of
some British sailors to escape from Boulogne. The
Duke's habit was to examine every picture in the
Exhibition that was visible to him ; and I have seen
him spend precisely the same time, and show the
same interest— and no more — over pictures in which
he figured gloriously, as he did in all others. If a

HERO-WORSHIP,

325

friend were with him, he would make a remark, as I
heard him on Allan's picture of the ''Waterloo
Fight." Too much smoke !" said the Duke.

Another celebrity whose remarks were striking
enough, was Rogers the poet, who, on seeing a
rather poor ill-drawn picture of Adam and Eve,
exclaimed, I deny that I am descended from that
couple !"

It would be difficult to convey to the present
generation any idea of the veneration that was felt
for the great Duke. Everybody, down to the street
boys, knew him, and vied with each other in offering
marks of respect. I cannot refrain from describing
an incident that came under my own observation. I
was descending the steps that lead from the Duke of
York's column into St. James's Park, when I saw
the Duke on horseback, trotting slowly along,
followed by his chocolate-coated groom, and attended
by a dirty little boy who managed to keep pace with
the Duke's horse, now and again looking up at the
rider. The Duke's patience with his inquisitive
follower failed as I descended the last step into the
Park, for he stopped his horse and addressed the
boy :

What do you want
The boy put his hands into his pockets, was con-
fused for a moment, and then looking up at the
Duke said :

I want to see where you are going."

I am going there," said the Duke, pointing to
the Horse Guards. Now go about your business !"

226

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES DICKENS.

The Story told of Sydney Smith, who, on being
asked by Landseer to sit to him, replied, Is
thy servant a dog that he should do this thing ?" is
not true ; but another and a better one, in which the
young King of Portugal figured, may be relied upon,
as I have Landseer's authority for its truthfulness.
At one of the Court balls Landseer attended, and
when the King of Portugal, who was also a guest,
was made aware of the presence of the great animal
painter, he expressed his desire for an introduction.
Landseer was presented accordingly, when the King,
in his imperfect English, said, Oh, Mr. Landseer,
I am delighted to make your acquaintance — I am so
fond of beasts!''

CHAPTER XXIII.

SUCCESS OF ''THE RAILWAY STATION."

The autumn of i860 was taken up by studies for the
picture of The Railway Station." The prepara-
tions were on much the same lines as those for the
*' Derby Day." Many chalk drawings of separate
figures and groups, many changes of composition and
incident, before I could satisfy myself that I might
commence the inevitable oil-sketch. I don't think
the station at Paddington can be called picturesque,
nor can the clothes of the ordinary traveller be said
to offer much attraction to the painter — in short, the
difficulties of the subject were very great ; and many
were the warnings of my friends that I should only
be courting failure if I persevered in trying to paint
that which was in no sense pictorial. My own
doubts were great, I confess, and I well remember
my surprise — on showing the sketch to the great
Flatovv — at the eagerness with which he engaged
himself to take the picture, sketch, and copyright, at
a price that appeared to me then as one of the
most exorbitant on record. As a matter of curiosity
I append a copy of the agreement ; by which it

328 SUCCESS OF ''THE RAILWAY STATION."

will be seen that I had reserved the right to exhibit
the picture at the Royal Academy — a right afterwards
resigned for a consideration in the shape of seven
hundred and fifty pounds :

Memorandum of agreement made this tenth day
of September, one thousand eight hundred and
sixty, between William Powell Frith, R.A., of
lo, Pembridge Villas, Bayswater, in the County
of Middlesex, of the one part, and Louis Victor
Flatow, of 23, Albany Street, Regent's Park, in
the said County, picture-dealer, of the other
part.

*'The said William Powell Frith agrees to sell to the
said Louis Victor Flatow, and said Louis Victor Flatow
agrees to buy, the large picture now being painted by
the said William Powell Frith, called ^ A Railway
Station,' together with the original sketch and the
copyright thereof, for the sum of four thousand five
hundred pounds, to be paid by instalments as follows :
Five hundred pounds on the first day of December
next ensuing ; five hundred pounds on the first of
March, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-one,
and a like sum at the expiration of every succeeding
three months, till the picture is completed, when the
balance, if any, shall in any case be paid ....

The said Louis Victor Platow shall allow the
picture to be exhibited at the Royal Academy in the
Exhibition of the year one thousand eight hundred
and sixty-two, or in the following Exhibition.

**W. P. Frith,
L. V. Flatow."

MISGIVINGS.

329

The above is all that is of interest in a somewhat
lengthy document.

On August 28 I find the first entry of the com-
mencement of the large picture of The Railway
Station :"

Commenced picture of railway platform ; another
long journey, to which I go with almost as good a
heart as I did to the * Derby Day.' May it be as
successful !"

I worked steadily on to the end of the year, and I
closed my diary with :

Once more in full swing at an important work,
next in importance to the ' Derby Day,' which some
say it will excel in merit and attractiveness. I am
doubtful. The subject is good, but I don't feel so
warm upon it as I did upon the other. Doubtful
of myself. Damped by the indifference of my

artist - friends. Let me remember that

and treat what I have done so far with the

greatest indifference, and see if the result justifies
their opinion. If so, I am utterly deceived and con-
ceited, and the blow that my confidence receives will
be deserved. In the meantime let me do all I can
to ensure success — work and wait."

The whole of the year 1861, with fewer inter-
ruptions than usual, was spent on " The Railway
Station." My diary records incessant work, and the
employment of a multitude of models. I fear there
is litde to tell that would interest my readers, but I
desire to reiterate, for the information of young
painters, that every object, living or dead, was

330

SUCCESS OF ''THE RAILWAY STATION:

painted from nature — often imperfectly enough, as
the picture proves. The police officers represented as
arresting a criminal on the eve of escape, were painted
from two detectives well known at that time, Messrs.
Haydon and Brett, the latter of whom I believe still
survives. They were admirable sitters, and when I
complimented them on their patience they took small
credit for doing for me what they had often done for
criminals of a deeper dye, namely, standing on the
watch, hour after hour, in the practice of their pro-
fession, waiting for a thief or a murderer.

One of the incidents in the picture represents a
foreigner whose idea of a cab-fare differs considerably
from that of the driver of the vehicle, and he is con-
sequently subjected to a bullying not uncommon under
similar circumstances. The original of the foreigner
was a mysterious individual who taught my daughters
Italian ; he hailed from Venice, at that time groan-
ing under Austrian rule. He was a man of dis-
tinguished manners ; and we were given to understand
that he was a nobleman whose head was wanted in
Venice to serve a very different purpose from that to
which I put it in this country. At first he refused to
sit, as he dreaded recognition by some aristocratic
friends who might come to England; and it was only
on my promising that I would avoid making a like-
ness of him that I succeeded in overcoming his
reluctance. If I am to keep to my determination to
tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth in these reminiscences, I must here confess
that I deceived the Italian count from the first; for,

HAY DON AND HART.

331

unless I caught the character of the face, I knew my
model would be useless to me. The difficulty then
was to prevent the portrait being seen till it was
finished : this was accomplished on one pretence or
other ; but the inevitable moment came at last, and
never can I forget the torrent of broken English
that was poured upon me when my sitter first saw
his face in the picture. You say it shall not be
like me, and it is as if I see me in a look-glass. You
have betray me — it is perfide — my friends will
recognise me. If I thought it was to be so I would
not have do it."

I fear my conduct was as indefensible as that
of poor Haydon under somewhat similar circum-
stances ; or only to be excused on the ground that
in the cause of art the end justifies the means.
As one of the principal actors in the Haydon case
told me all the circumstances, I can vouch for their
truth. The readers of Haydon's life are aware of
his many arrests for debt and his consequent im-
prisonment in the King's Bench, where he was
attracted by a boisterous travesty of an election per-
formed by the prisoners, from whom he painted a
picture called The Mock Election," which was
bought by George IV., and is now at Windsor Castle.
Nearly all the models for the work were the actors in
the burlesque, and ready to hand ; he was at a loss,
however, for one, the official who swears in the
members ; and reflection seems to have brought to his
mind the father of his old friend and fellow-towns-
man Hart, R.A. (who told me the story), as being

SUCCESS OF ''THE RAILWAY STATION."

exactly suited to his purpose. Haydon wrote to
Hart, and, telling him what he wanted, begged him
to allow his father to sit. Those who knew Mr. Hart
will remember that he was not distinguished for
personal beauty ; but he was an Adonis in comparison
with his father, whose physiognomy displayed the
most unfavourable characteristics of the Jewish race.
Mr. Hart, senior, lived with his son ; who was an
estimable person in all respects, and remarkable for
his devotion to his father and his extreme sensitive-
ness in all that concerned him. It was not to be
wondered at then that a very indignant refusal was
sent in reply to Haydon's letter, together with
vehement reproaches for his attempt to place the
father of an old friend in so ridiculous and humiliating
a position.

This brought a long and repentant letter from
Haydon, which closed with a prayer for forgiveness ;
and the hope that a proof that animosity had ceased
should be shown by the elder Hart being allowed
to breakfast w^ith the artist in prison, on the following
Sunday morning.

With a heart overflowing with forgiveness on the
part of both father and son, the former wended his
way to breakfast in the King's Bench. Hart told
me that his father had not been long gone before it
occurred to him, knowing the old gentleman's kindly
and somewhat weak character — and knowing, also,
the character of Haydon — it would, perhaps, be as
well if he were to go himself and see that the artist's
well-known devotion to his art had not made him

« WHY DID HE STAB HIS MOTHER

333

forgetful of truth and honour. He argued with himself
that such a betrayal was impossible, but in vain ; and
at last started for the prison, where he found Haydon
at work, just finishing a wonderful likeness of the old
man swearing in a dandy on a piece of burnt stick.

I take this opportunity of recommending a study
of the life and death of poor Haydon — than whom a
more enthusiastic, well-intending and mistaken being
never existed — to the attention and study of students.
I well remember the shock of his sad death, which
distressed, if it scarcely surprised, all who knew^ him.
Maclise first heard of it at the Athenaeum Club, and
seeing Turner reading a newspaper he went to him,
and said :

I have just heard of Haydon's suicide. Is it not
awful?"

Turner, without looking up from his paper, said :
Why did he stab his ' mother' ?"

" Great heaven!" said Maclise, ''you don't mean — "
Yes. He stabbed his mother."

No explanation could be obtained from Turner,
but he alluded no doubt to Haydon's attacks upon
the Academy, to which he owed his education, and
which were indeed the cause of his ruin.

The opportunity for a display of what Haydon
called ''high art" arrived at last by the proposed
decoration of the Houses of Parliament with historical
pictures — a consummation that he had been agitating
for, in season and out of season, all his life — and
then to see himself passed over, left out in the cold,
whilst younger men took the prizes and gained all the

334

SUCCESS OF ''THE RAILWAY STATIONS

employment, was a most cruel blow ; and one cannot
read of it in Tom Taylor's admirable life of the artist
without almost tearful sympathy. My friend the late
John Thomas, the author of all the sculpture that
decorates the exterior of the Houses, told me that on
the day of the decision — so fatal to Haydon — he was
lunching at a restaurant near the Houses of Parliament;
when his attention was attracted to a man who, with
a bottle of wine before him, was leaning on the table,
the upper part of his face covered by his hand. As
Thomas looked, thinking he knew the man, the tears
fell slowly down the stranger's face. In a few
minutes the hand was removed, and poor Haydon
was revealed.

I must return to the Railway Station," which was
completed in March, 1862, after rather more than a
year of incessant work, As I have said elsewhere,
there were no exhibitions in those days except the
annual ones, and no single-picture exhibitions at all.
The ''Railway" was a great success. I find that
twenty-one thousand one hundred and fifty people
paid for admission in seven weeks, and the subscrip-
tion for the engraving was equally surprising and
satisfactory. The critics contradicted one another
as usual, without doing good or harm to me or
the picture. Flatow was triumphant ; coaxing,,
wheedling, and almost bullying, his unhappy visitors.
Many of them, I verily believe, subscribed for the
engraving to get rid of his importunity. He used
to boast that he could induce the most unpromising
visitor to subscribe ; and on one occasion, as I was

FLATOirS TRIUMPH.

335

talking to him in the outer room, a fashionable,
languid-looking young gentleman, having seen the
picture, was on the point of taking his umbrella and
his departure. I whispered to Flatow :

I will bet you half a crown you don't get that
man to subscribe."

Done with you 1" said Flatow, and immediately
went to the young visitor and, touching his hat, said :
I beg pardon, sir — have you seen a specimen of the
manner in which this wonderful picture is about to
be engraved

N-no," drawled the dandy.
The umbrella was put back, and the visitor
returned to the picture in the custody of Flatow. In
a very few moments he came back in the act of button-
ing his gloves ; betrayer and victim exchanged fare-
well salutes, and the former, rejoining me, said :
" I will trouble you for two-and-sixpence !"

CHAPTER XXIV.

''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES."

The great success that had attended my modern-
hfe subjects encouraged me to further effort in the
same direction, and I forthwith arranged composi-
tions for three pictures of London street scenes, to be
called " Morning," '' Noon," and " Night." The first
represented the early dawn of a summer's morning,
w^ith a variety of incidents possible to the occasion :
homeless wanderers, asleep and sleepless ; burglars
stopped by police red-handed ; flower-girls returning
from Covent Garden with their early purchases ; be-
lated young gentlemen whose condition sufficiently
proved that the evening's amusement would not bear
the morning's reflection ; with other episodes more
or less characteristic.

In " Noon," the viise-en-scene was Regent Street
in full tide of active life. ' Ladies in carriages, coster-
mongers in donkey-carts, dog-sellers, a blind beggar
conducted across the street by his daughter and his
dog, foreigners studying a map of bewildering
London, etc., etc. The night scene was intended
for the Haymarket by moonlight, the main incident

ENCOURAGEMENT FROM LANDSEER.

337

being the exit of the audience from the theatre ;
a party is about to enter a carriage, and a gentle-
man is placing a young lady's cloak closely about
her shoulders, in tender lover-like fashion. This is
being observed by an over-dressed and berouged
v^oman, whose general aspect plainly proclaims her
unhappy position ; and by the expression of her faded
though still handsome face, she feels a bitter pang at
having lost forever all claim to manly care or pure
affection.

How I should have delighted in trying to realize
all that these subjects were capable of, no tongue can
tell ; but I will describe as briefly as possible how
that, to me, most desirable consummation was pre-
vented. I had the honour of being desired to paint
a picture of the marriage of the Princess Royal and
the Prince of Prussia. The "command" surprised
me in the act of finishing the Derby Day," and I
was permitted to urge the claims of that work, and its
owners, as an excuse for declining a task afterwards
so ably performed by my friend Phillip ; but when I
was again summoned to a more formidable effort in
the shape of the marriage of the Prince of Wales, I
felt I must obey ; though I was aware of the fearful
difficulties that such a subject presented — scarcely
exaggerated by what Landseer said to me when he
heard of my temerity : " So you are going to do the
marriage picture? Well! for all the money in this
world, and all in the next, I wouldn't undertake such
a thing." Not much appalled by this and other
warnings, undertake it I did ; and the street scenes,

VOL. I. 2 2

338 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES:'

for which I was to receive the incredible sum of ten
thousand pounds from Mr. Gambart, a well-known
and esteemed dealer of that time, were put on one
side.

To satisfy those who might quite excusably refuse
to believe in the folly of such an offer (it was an
offer, for my impudence, great as it was, must not be
credited with such an audacious deviand), I append
the agreement which legally bound painter and pur-
chaser to the terms of the engagement :

Memorandum of agreement made this twenty-
ninth day of August, one thousand eight
hundred and sixty-two, between William Powell
Frith, of No. lo, Pembridge Villas, Bayswater,
in the County of Middlesex, Esquire, R.A., of
the one part, and Ernest Gambart, of No. 120,
Pall Mall, in the said County, Esquire, of the
other part.

The said William Powell Frith agrees to accept
a commission to paint for the said Ernest Gambart,
and the said Ernest Gambart ao^rees to s^ive a com-
mission to paint, three pictures by the said William
Powell Frith, and to be called * The Streets of
London ' (such pictures to consist of three parts as
hereafter mentioned) ; and the said William Powell
Frith agrees to sell the copyright therein, together
with the original sketches thereof, and all further
sketches or drawings made or to be made in further-
ance of the said pictures, for the sum of ten thousand
pounds, to be paid by instalments as follows, namely :

" THE STREETS OF LONDON."

339

Five hundred pounds on the signing of this agree-
ment ; five hundred pounds at the expiration of
three calendar months from the commencement of
the said pictures, and a hke sum of five hundred
pounds at the expiration of every succeeding three
calendar months until the whole of the said sum of
ten thousand pounds shall be paid, or until the said
pictures shall be completed ; in case the same shall
be completed before, the said sum of ten thousand
pounds shall be fully paid, in which case the balance
which shall be then unpaid shall immediately, upon
such completion and delivery of the said paintings
and sketches, be paid.

(Signed) *'W. P. Frith,

Ernest Gambart."

With the final clauses of the agreement — being
solely legal technicalities — it is unnecessary to
trouble the reader.

I again quote from my diary :
Stmciay, Jan. 13, '68. — In the evening a letter
from Eastlake, to say the Queen wished me to paint
the marriage of the Prince of Wales."

'^Jan, 18. — Gambart called, and agreed to the
postponement of the street pictures in consequence
of the Queen's wish that I should paint the marriage
of the Prince of Wales."

''Jan. 29. — Sir C. Phipps writes to say the Queen
agrees to my terms for the marriage of the Prince
of Wales — three thousand pounds."

''March 10. — Sees me in a Court suit, sword, etc.,

22 — 2

340 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES."

at the marriage of the Prince of Wales ; a glorious
subject for pageantry and colour. I like the subject,
and think I can make a great deal of it."

This marriage ceremony, though somewhat longer
than the usual one, was all too short for sketch-
ing possibilities. The whole scene must be remem-
bered ; and, beyond notes of the positions of the
various personages in the chapel, which I entered in
my sketch-book, I made no use of it. The ceremony
left such a vivid impression upon my mind that I
found no difficulty in preparing a tolerable sketch of
the general effect ; and in due course I was permitted
to submit my attempt to the Queen. On Tuesday,
the /th of April, I find my diary says : " To
Windsor to see the Queen, who spent more than
half an hour with me. Seemed to be much pleased
with the sketch, and was most agreeable ; consented
to all I proposed. The picture to be ten feet long.
All charming so far."

" So far and no farther," for all too soon did my
troubles begin. Letters had to be written by the
score ; answers came sometimes, and sometimes
silence was the answer. In my applications for
sittings and dresses I had forgotten to say that the
picture was painted for, and by command of, the
Queen ; when that announcement was added, con-
sent in most cases came readily enough. All the
bridesmaids, but one promised to give me every
advantage. From one lady I received no reply ; but
in place of it a visit from her mother, whom I found
in a bewildered condition in my drawing-room. As

THE PRINCESS'S BRIDESMAIDS:

341

I entered, the lady — who was looking with a puzzled
expression at the different ornaments in the room —
turned to me and said :

I think I have made a mistake ; it is the artist
Frith I wish to see,"

Yes," said I, I am that individual."

Oh, really ! and this is your — this is where you
live ?"

''Yes," replied I, ''this is where I live;" then
mentally, *' and not in the garret where you had
evidently been taught that most artists reside ; and
as I have a coal-cellar I am not forced to keep my
fuel in a corner of the garret, and I am not always
dining on the traditional red herring."

'' Oh, then I hav^e called in reply to a letter from

you, asking my daughter. Lady , who was one

of the Princess's bridesmaids, to sit for a picture,
to tell you it is impossible for her to sit ; and as to
her dress, which you ask for, she cannot spare it."

" Indeed," I replied, " I am sorry to hear this ;
however, I will represent what you tell me to the
Queen, and I dare say I shall be allowed to substitute
one of my models, who must play the part of brides-
maid instead of Lady ."

My visitor looked at me with an expression which,
being interpreted, said as plainly as words, ''What
does this man mean with his Queen, and his model,
and his independent impertinent manner After a
pause she said :

" Why are you painting this picture ? What is it
for ? Can 1 see it

342 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES J

If you will walk this way," pointing to my paint-
ing-room, I shall be happy to show it to you."

What a queer place ! Why do you shut up part
of your window ? Oh, that is the picture ! Well,
what is it done for ?"

*' It is done for the Queen."

Done for the Queen ? Who presents it to the
Queen ?"

" Nobody — the Queen presents it to herself ; at
any rate, she pays for it."
" Really ?"

Yes, really." Then in my most respectful
manner I added, " I am well aware how much young
ladies are engaged, and how disagreeable it must be
for them to waste time in sitting to artists when it
can be so much more usefully occupied ; so if you
will allow me, I will tell her Majesty, through Lady
Augusta Bruce, that your daughter is unable," etc.

After another pause, and in a somewhat petulant
tone, the lady said :

Really, I think the Queen, when she asks ladies
to be bridesmaids, should tell them that they may be
called upon to go through the sort of penance you
propose to inflict upon my daughter."

I thought I had made it clear that I should
prefer to use one of my models than that your
daughter should be annoyed ; and if you find she
cannot consent I will write to Lady Augusta Bruce,"
etc.

Well, good-morning. I will let you know ; I
will see what my daughter says."

THE QUEEN OF THE BELGIANS.

343

The young lady came, and was one of the most
agreeable of my sitters. Though I lost not a
moment in impressing on all who were present at
the wedding that I must have their dresses to paint
from, I was told by several that the gowns were
already taken to pieces (to one of which I was
welcome), given away, or cut up into mementos of
the interesting event, etc. In reply, I threatened
them with the Queen if the dresses were not pro-
duced ; and, strange to say, the destroyed ones
became miraculously whole again and were sent to
me. So far I was successful with the English, but
with the foreigners I was beaten now and then.
The Duchess of Brabant, now Oueen of the Bel-
gians, wore a magnificent robe of moire antique of
a lovely purple colour. She was a very handsome
woman in a prominent position in the foreground ;
in fact, in what we call the very "eye of the pic-
ture." Those days were days of crinoline, and the
space taken up in the picture was great ; and great
was my distress when I was told that the Duchess
had already departed, and the robes had vanished
also. Those who knew Lady Augusta Bruce (after-
wards wife of the Dean of Westminster) do not
require to be told that she was one of the most
delightful women that ever lived ; her kindness to
me in all my troubles I can never forget. We
grieved together over the absent Duchess's dress,
and Lady Augusta said :

We are going to Cobourg, and I will try to
manage it."

344 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES."

In a letter written to my sister, dated August 23,
1863, I find the following:

" I have had a long letter from Lady Augusta
from Cobourg. She has succeeded in getting me
the Duchess of Brabant's robes, but not without
the Queen herself having to intercede for them, and
I am to pledge myself neither to smoke nor drink
beer in their presence."

I kept my word with some difficulty as regards
smoking, easily in respect of beer; but why these re-
strictions ? On Lady Augusta's return the mystery
was solved. The Duchess had lent dresses to Bel-
gian painters, who had returned them not only smell-
ing of tobacco, but beer-stained also.

The Danish Princes and Princesses baffled me
completely. They had no time in the short space
allowed them in England to sit to be painted —
scarcely for their photographs. I had therefore to trust
to that most unsatisfactory process for my likenesses
of them, which are consequently the worst in all
respects in the whole picture ; and if I had not had
a friend at the Court of Denmark I should have
been left lamenting for the dresses, orders, helmets,
etc., of the male personages. With regard to the
ladies, not the slightest help was afforded me. The
present Queen of Denmark and the Princess Dagmar,
now Empress of Russia, were painted from photo-
graphs, and the Duchess of Brabant from description
only. The King of Greece never sat at all ; but a
very charming young man, Prince Frederick — an
elder brother of the Grecian King, and a student at

THE CROWN PRINCE AND PRINCESS.

345

Oxford or Cambridge — came to Windsor on a visit
to the Queen and the Crown Prince of Prussia (then
staying at the Castle), and gave me a sitting ; the
Crown Prince staying with us the while to amuse
the young gentleman, which he seemed to do most
effectually, for the two never ceased talking — in a
language that I did not understand — for an hour and
a half at least. When the sitting was over, a diffi-
culty took place at the door of the Rubens room —
my temporary studio — as to which of the two young
men should take precedence ; there they stood, each
refusing to go first, till at last the Crown Prince of
Prussia cut the knot by backing through the doorway,
the Dane following face to face.

The Danish Prince left immediately for his college ;
and when he next found himself face to face with
the Prince of Prussia, it was on one of the battle-
fields in Schleswig-Holstein.

When the Crown Princess was sitting for me, she
endeavoured to make me understand the Schleswig-
Holstein difficulty. She talked most admirably, and
no doubt would have succeeded in enlightening an
ordinary understanding ; but the difficulty becomes
great when the listener is also occupied in a painful
endeavour to catch a likeness. Anyway, I could not
understand the pro and con of the dispute between
the Powers.

One of the most picturesque and conspicuous
figures at the marriage was the Maharajah Dhuleep
Singh. He wore the Eastern dress and was covered
with jewels — I was about to say blazed with them —

346 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES."

but the diamonds, being uncut, looked to me like
bits of dull glass, with just as much glitter. They
had to be painted, however, and the Prince was
willing to wear them ; but, as they were of fabulous
value, he was naturally reluctant to leave them with
me ; and he was only induced to do so on the con-
dition that his servant remained with them, and with
the understanding that they were to be deposited each
night at Coutts's Bank. This the servant promised ,*
but, seeing that I possessed a burglar-proof iron
safe, he trusted them to its keeping, and me with the
keys, remarking : Now, if the Prince knew of this,
he would be awake all night."

My diary again records day after day of incessant
work. I must quote from it, and largely also from
letters written to my sister at the time. The brides-
maids were kindness itself ; and if any representation
of them fails in likeness or otherwise, the fault is not
theirs. My regard for truth compels me to say
they were not all beautiful, but one left little to be
desired in that respect. Lady Diana Beauclerk,
daughter of the Duke of St. Albans, was not only
beautiful, but as agreeable as she w^as handsome.

On the 2oth May my diary says: At 12 came
the Duchess of St. Albans and her daughter, the
Lady Diana Beauclerk — a most sweet creature —
who sat divinely for nearly three hours. I made a
lovely beginning. Later in the day came S. Oxon,
who stayed twenty minutes to no purpose."

I must say,, however, for the Bishop, that, on the
whole, he was a very satisfactory sitter — giving me

THE BISHOP AND THE LORD CHANCELLOR. 347

every opportunity, of which I availed myself to good
purpose. I cannot refrain from recording an incident
in connection with the Bishop's likeness.

The Lord Chancellor Westbury and the Bishop
came to loggerheads in the House of Lords. West-
bury spoke of the " saponaceous prelate," and used
other disrespectful expressions in a discussion on
some forgotten subject. The Bishop, in reply,
begged the learned lord, if he had no respect for
himself, to respect the assembly in which he, perhaps
unexpectedly — the Bishop would not sayundeservedly
— found himself.

When the Lord Chancellor sat for me, his eye
caught the form of the Bishop of Oxford, and he
said : *^ Ah ! Sam of Oxford. I should have thought
it impossible to produce a tolerably agreeable face,
and yet preserve any resemblance to the Bishop of
Oxford." And when the Bishop saw my portrait of
Westbury, he said : Like him ? yes ; but not
wicked enough.''

The Speaker of the House of Commons, Deni-
son, afterwards Lord Ossington, told me the follow-
ing anecdote of Lord Westbury :

Lord Ebury had brought into the House of
Lords a Bill with the object of effecting certain
changes in the Burial Service ; several animated dis-
cussions had taken place, just at the time that some
unpleasant disclosures were revealed in which Lord
Westbury was implicated, and which led to his
resignation of the Chancellorship. The noble lord
announced his resignation in a speech which his

348 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF IVALESr

friends said was pathetic enough to melt the hearts
of his hearers ; but which his enemies said was a
masterpiece of affected repentance and hypocritical
mockery. The House was greatly moved, and as
the Lord Chancellor was leaving- it, he met Lord
Ebury, and said to him : ' My lord, you can now read
the Burial Service over me, with any alteration you
think proper.' "

My mention of the Speaker reminds me of his
being the possessor of a study of the Princess of
Wales, which I sold to him after using it for the
larger picture. I don't know the exact age of the
Princess at the time of her marriage, and should be
careful to keep it to myself if I did ; but she was
very young and very beautiful, as all the world
knows. She very graciously consented to come to
my house, and to afford me every assistance in the
way of sittings for my picture.

The Princess is well known for her kindness of
heart. Ah ! how that heart would have ached if its
owner had realized the aching of mine, when I, too
soon, discovered that the illustrious young lady did
not know that the keeping her face in one position,
for a few minutes even, was necessary to enable an
artist to catch a resemblance of it. That first sitting
can I ever forget ? I did not dare to complain till
after two or three more fruitless attempts. With
downright failure staring me in the face, I opened
my heart to the Prince of Wales. " You should
scold her," said the Prince.

Just at this time the Princess was sitting for her

THE PRINCESS OF WALES.

349

bust to the celebrated sculptor Gibson, R.A., in a room
at Marlborough House. I was sent for by the Prince,
and, before I was admitted to an interview, I was
shown into the sculptor's studio, and found him
waiting for a sitting from the Princess. The bust
was already in an advanced stage. I did not think
it was very like, and, in reply to Gibson, said so.
''Well, you see," said Gibson, "the Princess is a
delightful lady, but she can't sit a bit."

Just at this moment I was summoned to the Prince,
whom I found with the Princess ; and I saw, or thought
I saw, a sort of pretty smiling pout, eloquent of
reproof, and of half-anger with me. The Prince
had something to show me — photographs, I think —
and then he led the way to Gibson ; the Princess and
I followinof.

No sooner did we find ourselves in the sculptor's
presence, than — after some remarks upon the bust —
the Prince said : " How do y oil find the Princess sit,
Mr. Gibson ?" " Now," thought I, " if ever man
was in an awkward fix, you are, Mr. Gibson ; for,
after what you said to me a few minutes ago, you
cannot, in my presence, compliment the beautiful
model on her sitting."

The Prince looked at Gibson, and Gibson looked
in dead silence at the Prince, and then at the
Princess ; he then looked again at the Prince, smiled
and shook his head.

" There, you see, you neither sit properly to Mr.
Gibson nor to Mr. Frith."

" I do — I do," said the lady. "You are two bad
men !"

350 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES J

And then we all smiled ; and Gibson went on
with his work, the Princess sitting admirably for the
short time that I remained.

This was a good omen, as I afterwards found ; for
the Princess sat most kindly and steadily for me at
Windsor ; and I quite believe that the seemingly
naughty behaviour during the first sittings arose
from her ignorance of the necessity for a fair amount
of carefulness in keeping the position required.

The Prince's sittings, and unvarying considerate
kindness, left nothing to be desired. The same
must be said of all the Princesses ; and to enforce
this, I may quote from a letter written at the time to
my sister.

"Windsor, Nov. 8, 1863.

Here we are cheek by jowl (rather a vulgar
expression that) with royalty, and if painting were
not so difficult, it would be very delightful indeed ;
for nothing can exceed the kindness of everybody
with whom I come in contact. And how the stories
have arisen about artists' time being wasted, I can't
think ; for with me the royalties come to their
time, and sit admirably, save that the sittings are
shorter than I like. The Queen sits to-morrow
from one till two. I have tried hard to get
her to sit for an hour and a half ; but she says she
cannot spare the time 07ia\ and would rather
sit any number of times an hour at a time. The
Queen is most kind ; but I can tell you more about
all concerned to-morrow. As to the Princesses, they

A ROYAL FAMILY PARTY.

351

would be considered most charming girls anywhere ;
none of their photographs do them justice. The
difficulty is to keep in mind in whose presence you are
— they laugh and talk so familiarly, and still sit well.
Princess Beatrice, too, is a most sweet little creature,
and as I took Princess Helena's advice, and 6>z^^r-
her a little, she sat right well ; but she began to
take liberties at last, and 1 am afraid next time I
shall be troubled to keep her quiet. As to Prince
William of Prussia, of all the little Turks he is one
of the worst ; and how I am to get a likeness of him I
don't know. I let him paint a little on the picture,
which delighted him. At the same time I was paint-
ing Princess Beatrice's dress from the lay figure,
when the door of the Rubens room (where I am at
work) was thrown open, and a man shouted, as if he
was proposing a toast at a public dinner, * The
Crown Prince of Prussia and the Royal Family/
And in marched the Crown Prince (who had arrived
at the Castle unexpectedly) with his three children,
their nurses, and all the English Princesses and
their attendants. Fortunately the room is an im-
mense one, or it would have been filled ; and of all
the rows ! — those children, shouting, laughing, and
romping with the Princesses. I was looking at little
Prince William, and talking to Princess Helena,
when the royal imp looked up in my face and said :

* Mr. Fiff, you are a nice man ; but your whiskers '

when the Princess stopped his mouth with her hand.
He struggled to get her hand away, and again said —
' Your whiskers ' when she stopped him again,

352 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALESr

blushing, and laughing till she could scarcely move.
However, they carried the youngster to the other
end of the room, and soon brought him back to
good manners. The Crown Prince — who is one of
the finest and most manly-looking figures I ever
saw — sat for a while, and I did the outline of his
head, and shall make a very successful thing of him.
The Crown Princess comes on Tuesday, when I
hope to get a nice likeness of her. . . . Little Prince
William calls the picture ' Uncle Wales' Wedding.*
The Princesses always speak of the Queen as
' Mamma,' and they are altogether like a happy
middle-class family. And now I think I have told
you enough till next time.

I am, as ever,

Your affectionate Brother."

The whisker mystery was never revealed, but I
inflicted a very unintentional and regretted punish-
ment on the little boy, which I fancy he may remem-
ber to this day. The picture of the marriage was
ten feet long, and, as I said above, I portioned off
one of the lower corners of it — about a foot square —
which I lent to the young Prince (he was about seven
years old, I think) to paint a picture upon — giving him
paints and brushes, but telling him to keep strictly
within the boundaries of his own property. I was
working quiedy at my part of the picture when I
was roused by an exclamation of alarm from the lady
in whose charge the Prince always came to me, wha
cried :

PRINCE WILLIAM OF PRUSSIA.

353

*' Look at his face ! What has he been doing
to it ?"

Well, he had simply been wiping his brushes upon
it, for it was streaked with vermiHon, bright blue,
and other pigments.

''What is to be done ? If the Princess should see

him she would "

Oh," said I, " I can easily remove the paint."

And so saying I dipped some clean rag into tur-
pentine and effectually rubbed off the colour, or, to
be correct, I was rapidly removing it, when I was
stopped by violent screams from the young gentle-
man, accompanied by a severe cuff from his little fist.
The turpentine had found out a little spot or scratch
on his face, and no doubt gave him great pain —
great indeed if one might take scream after scream
as a proof. He tore away from me, after a parting
kick, and took refuge under a large table and yelled
till he was tired, his governess the while in terror
that he might be heard.

I don't think he forgot or forgave my " remedial
efforts," for he took much pleasure after in torment-
ing me by sitting so badly that I failed in producing
anything in the picture resembling him. This young
gentleman is now married and is a father, and I trust
a happy one.

It was a matter of regret to me that I was deprived,
by the lamented death of the Prince Consort, of a
critic whose remarks would have been of great use
to me. Of all the Princesses, I think the Crown
Princess showed the greatest knowledge of the prin-

voL. I. 23

354 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES."

ciples of art. The Queen, being herself an artist of
experience and ability, more than once assisted me
by suggestions. Amongst the many sitters who
came to me was one who much interested me — the
Honourable Something Byng, called " Poodle "
Byng — a man of fashion about town in the early part
of this century, a contemporary and friend of Brummel,
about whom he had many stories. Mr. Byng was a
very old gentleman when he assisted at the wedding
of the Prince of Wales, as is abundantly proved by
the fact of his havin^^ been at the marriaQ^e of
George IV., who, when Prince of Wales, was
united to Caroline of Brunswick in 1795. Mr. Byng,
then a boy of sixteen, perfectly remembered the
whole scene, and as perfectly described it to me.

Those were drinking-days/' said the old gentle-
man, " and the Prince never spared the bottle. The
company had been some time assembled at St.
James's Palace, waiting for the Prince, without whom,
you know, the ceremony could not take place, the
King and Queen sitting in great impatience ; the
King now and again tapping the floor with his foot,
then saying something in an angry tone to the
Queen. At last in came the Prince, attended by
some gentlemen — I forget who they were — his face
flushed, you know, and a little uncertain on his legs.
The King looked very black at him, I can tell you.
However, he got through very well. The Princess
was very nervous."

''Was she pretty?" asked I.

''Well, no — fresh, healthy-looking woman, though

THE MAHARAJAH DHULEEP SINGH. 355

— but about as opposite to this Princess as
George IV. was to our Prince."

At the time Mr. Byng sat to me he was consider-
ably over eighty. He Hved in Duke Street, St.
James's, and always walked to and from Bayswater ;
and boasted of the feat, in which he was justified, I
think.

I remember with peculiar pleasure my short
acquaintance with the Duchess of Cambridge and
Princess Mary. Both those ladies sat delightfully,
and I think I succeeded in producing fair likenesses
of them.

Sir Edward Cust — a distinguished authority on
matters of warfare — was Master of Ceremonies
to the Court, and took his place in St. George's
Chapel as a matter of right. He sat to me many
times, and on one occasion, in the latter part of a
summer's day, when I was much fatigued by my
day's work, I said :

" I feel a little tired. Sir Edward ; would you mind
my smoking a cigar ?'

Not in the least," replied Sir Edward, " if you
don't mind my being sick, which I certainly shall be
the moment you begin."

The Maharajah Dhuleep Singh had a face of a
handsome type, but somewhat expressionless. It
seemed strange to me to find myself painting from
one who was born ruler of a bigger country than
England, who had been dragged across the sea, jewels
and all, to assist at the weddino^ of a barbarian on a
little Western island, and — what he may have con-

356 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES:'

sidered an additional punishment — he was made to
sit for his Hkeness, and compelled to lend his treasured
jewels to be copied by an infidel whose neck it might
have been his delight to wring if it had been in his
power. He is a thoroughly good young man, his
servant told me : " he reads no book but the Bible,
which he knows from cover to cover." He told me
he used to be decorated with the Koh-i-Noor when a
boy, and he was very pleased that the Queen was
now the possessor of that remarkable jew^el.

I think it must be admitted that as sitters for their
pictures, the men bear away the palm from the ladies.
There are exceptions, of course, on both sides, but, so
far as my experience goes, I have found the male
more patient than the female ; the result being —
notably in the picture in question — a superiority of
likeness in all the men. The Prince of Saxe-Weimar,
the Prince of Leiningen, the Crown Prince, and many
others, were model sitters, patient, good-natured,
and tolerant — perhaps indifferent — of the, sometimes,
unflattering result of their patience. Not so some of
the ladies. One — the aged wife of an ambassador —
was so shocked by my portrait of her that she
implored me to rub it out. She spoke imperfect
English, and she said, ''Oh, mister, that is not me. I
cannot have grow like that. I will give you my like-
ness to copy ;" and she sent me a drawing done from
her when she was a lovely girl of eighteen, with an
urgent request that I would correct my libel of her
immediately. I declined ; and the figure remains a by
no means unflattered copy of a very plain old lady.

UNUSUAL POSITION OF AN ARCHBISHOP.

The Bishops were, one and all, delightful. Longley,
Archbishop of Canterbury, who in his early days was
head-master of Harrow, sat many times, and amused
me by anecdotes. On one occasion, he told me, as
he was passing one of the houses at Harrow occupied
by students, he saw a rope dangling from one of the
windows. He seized the rope, and instantly found
it pulled so vigorously from the other end, that his
feet were off the ground, and he was hanging in the
air and drawn slowly up to the window before he had
time to think of the danger of his position. Most
fortunately the window was not far from the ground,
for no sooner had the head and shoulders of the
master appeared before the astonished and dismayed
eyes of the students — who expected a very different
apparition — than they let go the cord, and the future
archbishop lay sprawling on the ground. The
young rascals," said the Archbishop, had sent one
of their companions into the town for something
or other, and that was the way he was to rejoin
them." The Archbishop, as Primate, was the
officiating clergyman at the Prince's marriage, being
assisted by the Bishops of London, Winchester,
Chester, and Oxford, the latter in his robes as
Prelate of the Order of the Garter.

Sumner, Bishop of Winchester, w^as a very old
man, nearer eighty than sevent}^ ; he seemed so hale
and active that I was induced to ask him if he had
adopted any special regimen as regards diet, exercise,
etc. Well," said he, " I have eaten of whatever
good things were put before me, and I have drunk

358 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES:'

a bottle of port wine every day since I was a boy.
The only precaution I have taken has been in the
quality of the wine ; for unless it was old and good,
I would have none of it."

The Bishop of Chester came to London on purpose
to sit forme. I only troubled him twice, and he sat
so patiently that his portrait is one of the most like
of all. He had a very characteristic face and a very
long neck. The Bishop of Oxford told me the
Bishops called him their " Neck-or-nothing brother."

A certain Marquis, now dead, had the character,
— rightly or wrongly ascribed to him — of being parsi-
monious to an extent often verging on absolute mean-
ness. In conversation with the Bishop of London,
the miserly disposition of this nobleman was dis-
cussed ; when the Bishop said : I have heard these
stories, and must believe some of them ; nor do I
think them irreconcilable with a lavish generosity
in directions where help is required for deserving
objects, as a cheque for ten thousand pounds for ' The
Curates' Augmentation Fund' — which I have at this
moment in my pocket signed by the very nobleman
in question — proves."

To the many applications made by me to the
various personages who were present at the marriage
of the Prince of Wales I received but one refusal to sit.
All the stalls in St. George's Chapel were filled by
Knights of the Garter in their robes ; and amongst
them was a noble Duke celebrated for being the
possessor of a very broad-brimmed hat and a very
ordinary— not to say ugly — face. My first appeal

DISRAELI AND HIS WIFE.

359

failed in eliciting a reply, but to my second letter I
received the following answer :

Dear Sir,

I have no time to sit for a picture. If my form
must appear in your work, allow me to suggest that,
in respect of my face, you might bury it in my hat,
in the manner of people when they go to church.

Your obedient Servant,

Some of the figures in the distance were so small
that I refrained from troubling the originals, finding
good photographs sufficient guides. Amongst these
was Mr. Disraeli, whose face on the canvas was
certainly not larger than a shilling ; and I told Mrs.
Disraeli, when she called to see the picture, that I
could not think of troubling her husband, and on
some excuse or other I escaped showing it to her ;
as I knew she would be distressed at finding the
great man playing so small a part in it. The
worship of that estimable lady for her husband is
well known, and I may relate here an instance
of it.

My old friend John Phillip, R.A., was com-
missioned by the Speaker Denison to paint a picture
of a portion of the House of Commons. The work
was to contain portraits of some of the most eminent
members of the Government and of the Opposition.
On one side are Lord Palmerston, who is speaking,
Cornewall Lewis, Lord John Russell, Lord Lytton,
etc., and opposite sit Disraeli and those of his

36o ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES."

inclining. Phillip told me that, after the first sitting
from Disraeli — the colours being necessarily some-
what crude — the lady and gentleman took their
departure ; but, after seeing her husband into the
carriage, Mrs. Disraeli returned to the studio,
and, walking quickly up to the painter, said,

Remember his pallor is his beauty !" and, without
another word, rejoined her husband.

Here I make further quotations from my letters to
my sister. I find in November, 1863, I write:

I must confess that if there be any shortcomings
in the picture I don't think I can fairly attribute them
to the Royal people, for nothing could be kinder than
they have been ; and I quite believe that the short
sittings, in the present state of things, are unavoid-
able.

Princess Louise told me the other day that she
and Princess Helena were at the Great Exhibition,
and Princess Helena, feeling some one tugging at her
dress, turned round, and heard a woman exclaim,
' I've touched her, I've touched her ! Oh, it's a noble
family !' "

Now, without the least flunkey feeling (and I
don't think anybody would accuse me of such a
weakness), I don't think I ever was more surprised
than I have been with the Royal children : the most
unaffected, genial, pleasant creatures, without the
least pride of place about them.

The Queen will sit again in a few days, and that
will be the last opportunity I shall have till the spring
— perhaps the last, as I have been very successful

A PRINCE OF HISTORY.

with her Majesty, although my sittings have been so

short Scarcely a day passes without some

one who is staying in the Castle coming into my
work-room : the other day Lord Carlisle and some
interesting people, amongst whom was the Duke de
Nemours, whose face I shall never forget — he
looked history. I thought I could find traces of
Henry IV., the Guises, the Bourbons — a kind of
exemplar of the French royal blood. It w^as most
curious — not fanciful on my part. And his manners
had a sort of old-world dignity and gentle formality
that was inexpressibly striking ; it was like talking
with the dead — and if he had been dressed in the high
boots and armour of Henry IV., the very man would
have been before you. When he had gone, and I
looked round at the stately Rubens in their high
ruffs and peaked beards, I could scarcely believe I
had not been talking to one of them. I assure you
I am not exaggerating — it was most striking ; and
so are others who come, only they waste my time.

Ever your affectionate Brother."

Another anecdote related to me by one of the
Princesses — I foro^et which — is worth recordinof.
After the marriage of the Crown Prince of Prussia
with the Princess Royal of England, the happy pair
embarked at Gravesend for their future home. To
reach their vessel they had to pass through a dense
mass of people by means of a long passage, or gang-
way, closely beset on both sides by all sorts and
conditions of men and women. As the Royal couple

362 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES."

walked slowly along, the Prince felt his arm touched ;
he turned, and was thus addressed by a navvy :
" Now mind you behave well to her when you gets
her over there ; if you don't, we'll pretty soon fetch
her back aofain."

In another letter of a later date :

" London, December 20,

My dearest J ,

I confess I am right glad to find myself at
home again, after the pains and troubles of Windsor;
not that I have anything to complain of, as I said be-
fore, but that the difficulties have been so great. . . .
When I tell you that in less than seven weeks I
have finished the Queen and the Prince, nearly done
the three English Princesses, advanced the Crown
Princess and her son almost to completion, quite
done the Crown Prince, begun General Grey, Lady
Mount- Edgecumbe, the Lord Chamberlain, and some
others, and made a most satisfactory study of the
Princess of Wales, you will admit I have made the
most of my time. The Queen came to see me just
before she left, and all the Princesses came to say
good-bye. Little Princess Beatrice was most affec-
tionate. She shook hands with me three times.
She showed me the present she had prepared
for Lady Augusta Bruce — who is to marry Dean
Stanley almost immediately — a little ring made
of forget-me-nots in diamonds, of which she was
very proud. I believe the likeness I have done
of the Queen is satisfactory, only too faithful, I

THE ROYAL CHILDREN.

363

thought — not in the least Hattered. I said as
much to Princess Helena, and her reply was very
characteristic. I said I thought the public would
scarcely be satisfied, after the pretty-looking things
they had been accustomed to. The Princess said :
' The public — well, you may say to the public that
mamma's children are delighted with it, and beg
you never to touch it again ; we think it per-
fect. . .

Ever your affectionate Brother."

I think it was at Windsor that I heard a story of
the Royal children, or rather of one of them, that I
may relate, though I cannot vouch for the truth of it:

" Some years before the marriage of the Prince

of Wales, the present Lord , who suffers from a

lame foot, was invited to Osborne. Previous to his
arrival, a discussion took place between the Queen
and the Prince Consort as to the advisability of
drawing the children's attention to the nobleman's
lameness, and at the same time warning them to
take no notice of it, or whether it would be better,
having regard to the thoughtlessness of children, to
say nothing at all about it. After much considera-
tion, the latter idea was adopted. Lord • came,

played with the young royalties, and left very early
one morning. When the children came to break-
fast, they looked for Lord , and one of them

asked for him. The Queen said, 'Lord has

gone.'

' There, now !' said one of the Princes, whimper-

364 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES:''

ing, * that is too bad. He has gone, and he promised
to show me his foot.' "

Before I take my leave of Windsor, I have to
tell how I happened to see part of the body of
Charles I.

One day, when I was sketching in St. George's
Chapel, an elderly man — a verger, I think — came to
me, and asked if I should like to see a little bit
of Charles I." The man seemed to be in his
right mind ; he was one of the officials that I had
frequently seen in the Chapel — well dressed, a gold
chain with a locket attached to it — a watch no
doubt at the end — in evidence on his waistcoat.

I really don't know what you mean by a bit
of Charles I.," said I. How could I see such a
thinor p"

The locket was opened, and a small dark object
shown to me.

That," said the man, is a portion of the body
of Charles I."

And how did you become possessed of it ?"
asked I.

''Well, sir, it was in this way : When George IV.
was Prince Regent, I was a carpenter s boy doing
odd jobs with my master about the Castle, and w^e
was ordered into the vaults just below where you are
standing. There was the Prince and some gentle-
men, and one of the Casde servants with a light; and
they was evidently looking about for something, and
they were some time before they found what they
wanted. At last, one of the gents — he was a doctor,

"/I LITTLE BIT OF CHARLES /." 365

I think — says, ' Here it is 1' pointing to one of the
coffins. He took the light and held it close, and you
could read, ' King Charles, 1648 ' — I think that was
the date, or something near it. Then the Prince says
to my master, ' Open the coffin, and be very careful
how you do it ;' and him and me did it, and we raised
the lid, and there was a startler, I assure you ! You
know them pictures of King Charles in the Castle }
well, sir, they are good likenesses, I can tell you : for
there he was — the beard on the chin and the mous-
taches, just as he is drawn. One eye was wide open,
but the other was gone ; his face was just like life,
only very brown ; and round the throat there was a
piece of black ribbon. ' Now take out the head,'
said the Prince, and my master took hold of it, but
he seemed frightened, for his hands shook, and, just
as the Prince said, ' Look ! the eye is going ' (and so
it was, for it turned to dust as we was looking),
master's hand shook so that the head slipped through
his fingers on to the ground — he said it had become
so greasy he couldn't hold it. The Prince was angry,
and blew master up, and told one of the gentlemen
to put it back in the coffin — which was done— and
then they all went away, leaving us to close up the
coffin. We w^as tidying up, when master said, * Why,
here is a bit of him !' and he picked up from the floor,
w^here the head had fallen, a piece of flesh from the
neck, and gave it to me for a keepsake. So I kept
it ever since ; and you may take your oath wherever
you like that you have seen a part of the body of
Charles I."

366 ''THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF WALES:

When the marriage picture was finished, I was
honoured by a visit from the Queen at my house in
Pembridge Villas. Her Majesty showed me the
kindness she displays to all artists, and, though I was
conscious of the many shortcomings of the picture,
and quite aware that they could not escape her eyes,
she found little or no fault, and left me under the
impression that I had succeeded as well as could be
expected, considering the great difficulties of the
task.

The picture went to the Exhibition of 1865, and,
from the nature of the subject, was very attractive.
After trying the policeman, who failed to keep the
crowd at a proper distance from the picture, an iron
rail was again found necessary, and — after a fight —
adopted.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH.

In reading Evelyn's delightful Diary" I had been
struck by a description of a scene at the old Palace
at Whitehall — then occupied by Charles II. and his
Court — where debauchery of all kinds, and gambling
in particular, were pretty generally practised. Evelyn
describes a visit of himself and two friends to the
Palace, on the Sunday evening preceding the death
of the King, in the following words :

I can never forget the inexpressible luxury and
profaneness, gaming, and all dissoluteness, and, as it
were, total forgetfulness of God (it being Sunday
evening) which this day se'nnight I was witness of.
The King sitting and toying with his concubines —
Cleveland, Portsmouth, and Mazarin ; a French boy
singing love-songs in that glorious gallery ; whilst
about twenty of the greater courtiers and other
dissolute persons were at basset round a large table
— a bank of at least two thousand pounds in gold
before them — upon which two gentlemen who were
with me made reflections with astonishment. Six
days after was all in the dust !"

368

THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH.

This was a splendid subject for a picture ; but I
should have preferred to have carried out my agree-
ment with Mr. Gambart for the "Streets of London,"
and much regret now that I did not do so. I fancied
that gentleman had grown cool on the subject of
the " Streets ;" and when I showed him the sketch for
"Charles II.'s Last Sunday," he expressed himself so
warmly in favour of it in preference to the " Streets "
that I accepted a commission from him for three
thousand guineas, and at the same time consented to
cancel our agreement for the more extensive and
expensive subject of the " London Streets."

Bad times have come upon us, and those pictures
are, and ever will be, in the air — a matter of everlast-
ing regret to me, from my conviction that my reputa-
tion will rest on the pictures I have painted from the
life about me.

Before the picture of Charles had advanced far it
changed hands, and became the property of Mr.
Matthews, with whom it still remains, surrounded by
most admirable specimens of the best artists of the
day. It was during the progress of this picture that
I received a very gratifying acknowledgment of
supposed merit in the shape of the Belgian Order of
Leopold, conferred on me on the occasion of the
exhibition in Brussels of the picture of " Ramsgate
Sands," kindly lent by the Queen. I had several
English rivals, who were naturally sore at being
passed over in my favour ; one of them being in
excellent odour with the gentleman who did the art
criticism in the Athencsum, and who, in noticing the

THE ORDER OF LEOPOLD.

369

Exhibition at Brussels, was so kind as to announce
that the decoration of the Order of Leopold was
given to my picture, not because of its merits, but
because it happened to belong to the Queen ; where-
as, if merit had been the guide, the honour must have
fallen on other shoulders. On reading this I thought
it well to ascertain if these pleasant remarks had any
foundation in truth, or whether, as I felt pretty cer-
tain, they were the outcome of the disappointment
of the critic and his friend. I accordingly wrote to
the Belgian official responsible in the matter, telling
him that if what the AthencBU77i stated was the truth
I should return the Order. Here is his reply :

"Bruxelles, le Novembre, 1866.

Monsieur,

M. le Ministre de I'lnterieur me charge
d'avoir I'honneur de repondre a la lettre que vous
lui avez fait parvenir le 5 de ce mois.

C'est a la suite d'une proposition emanant du
Jury des recompenses de I'Exposition generale des
Beaux-Arts de 1866, qu'une distinction honorifique
vous a ete conferee par le Gouvernement du
Roi.

'*Je vous prie de croire, Monsieur, que dans
I'espece, la consideration du merite des oeuvres
envoyees a nos expositions est la seule raison deter-
minante tant des propositions des Jury's, que des de-
cisions que le Gouvernement prend ensuite.

Pour ce qui vous concerne personnellement, je
me plais a ajouter que le succes public a confirme

VOL. I. 24

THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH.

pleinement la sanction officielle qui a ete accordee
a votre talent.

Je me fais done un devoir de joindre mes felicita-
tions a celles qui vous ont deja ete adressees par M.
le Ministre de Flnterieur, et je saisis cette occasion
pour vous offrir I'assurance de mes sentiments les
plus distinguee.

L'Inspecteur des Beauxe-Arts,

**Ad. van Soust de Borkenfeldt.

A Monsieur W. P. Frith,

"Artiste peintre h Londres."

On receiving this expected and satisfactory con-
firmation of my opinion of the Athenceimi critic, I
wrote to the Times complaining of his conduct, and
placing it in such a light as I should have thought
would have produced a retractation and an apology.
But no, the AthencBwn maintained silence under
proofs of a charge that would have been thought
disgraceful by any respectable writer.

To return to Charles I., after much searching I
found a man curiously like the king. He seemed in
feeble health, but without any sign of fatal illness
upon him ; but, strange to say, he sat to me for the
last time one Sunday, and before that day se'nnight
all was in the dust " with him as with his royal pro-
totype. Yet another and a sadder death I have to
record, that of my old and dear friend John Phillip,
which began in my studio in front of my picture of
Charles, which he had come to criticise. He had
been long ailing, but on the day of his visit to me he

DEA TH OF JOHN PHILLIP.

371

seemed in unusual health and spirits. He had just
told me the story of Dsraeli and his pallor "
(related in the previous chapter), when he suddenly-
rubbed his hands furiously, and exclaimed :

What is this ? — what can be the matter ?" He
then staggered and fell into a chair, and said, " I
hope to God this is not paralysis !"

" Nonsense !" said I ; " don't frighten yourself —
'tis but a bad attack of pins and needles," as he con-
tinued rubbing his hands.

But in an instant his face changed, was drawn
terribly on one side, and his utterance became thick
and unintelligible like that of a drunken man. I
sent for a doctor, to whom, when he appeared,
Phillip said :

" This is very strange — what is the matter with
me ?"

The doctor said nothing for a moment. Then
finding, on his direction to the poor fellow to move
his left leg, that he had lost all power over it, he
shook his head, and told me to send for a conveyance
and get the dying painter home as soon as possible.
My dear old friend lingered for ten days, and then
there died one of the greatest painters this country
has produced, and one of the noblest and truest-
hearted of men. We had been boys together. I re-
gretted him, and regret him still ; and right glad I am
to find that his son Colin is taking a very high posi-
tion as a water-colour painter, as his admirable works
— to say nothing of his admission into the Old
Society of Water-Colour Painters — sufficiently prove.

24 — 2

372

THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH.

It was the custom till well into the present century
for noblemen to wear their stars on all occasions, and
I have heard that certain ribald remarks made by the
many-headed on the appearance of these decorated
nobles in the streets, was the cause of the discon-
tinuance of a practice that fell into desuetude soon
after the time when clergymen ceased to walk about
in their gowns. Knowing this, I thought I might
venture to decorate the King, in my picture, with the
Order of the Garter. But here came a difficulty,
for I was told that the star was differently formed to
the one now worn. Good fortune attended my in-
quiries, for I found that the actual George " that
was given by Charles I. to Bishop Juxon on
the scaffold — with the word Remember" — was in
existence, and in the possession of the Duke of
Sutherland, who had inherited it from his father,
to whom it had been presented by George IV.
Cardinal York, the last of the Stuarts, had be-
queathed the Order to the King.

I applied to the Duke of Sutherland, who kindly
lent me the jewel, and my Charles" now wears
the Order that very possibly decorated the real man
on the occasion represented in the picture ; for it
has been conjectured, plausibly I think, that the
Bishop was to remember " to give the Order to the
Prince of Wales, to whom it may have been con-
signed, in spite of Cromwell and his myrmidons.

]\Iy picture represents nearly a year's incessant
work, and my diary shows constant evidence of a
setded conviction of its success. It was my custom,

FORECASTS FOR THE YEAR.

373

the first day of the year, to express my opinion of
my work and my anticipation of the result of it, so as
to be able to test the truth or falseness of my judg-
ment. Of course I was often deceived, but the
practice is one I would recommend to the young
painter, as it may prove both a safeguard against
unwarranted enthusiasm, and an encouragement in
moments of depression. As an example I quote
from the diary of 1867, the year of the completion
and exhibition of Charles II." :

** I find in my last diary that the year '66 began
big with the conviction that I was about another, and
perhaps a greater, success. Time confirms that idea,
and this year finds me slowly, but successfully, com-
pleting a picture which has been more than a com-
mon delight to me. It is not possible to exaggerate
(to convey a notion, even, to the uninitiated) the
delight that these things are if you can persuade
yourself that you are in the right way. I think I am
in that direction — hence my pleasure ; and I can't
believe myself to be such a fool as to feel in this
way without good foundation for my feelings. We
shall see. Once more work on — steadily, faithfully,
trustingly, hopefully to the end."

I recommend the last paragraph to the attention
of the student. When the picture went to the Exhi-
bition I find I wrote :

Picture left, and joy go with it. Of course, alas !
it is inferior to the old masters in every quality. It
is a good thing as times go. We shall see. I am
very likely wrong."

THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH.

I have spoken in a previous page of the terrible
sensation that thrills the wretched painter on the
first sight of a picture on the walls of the Academy.
Here is a true and faithful account of mine on the
occasion of ''Charles II.'s" appearance in Trafalgar
Square :

" First sight of ' Charles ' in the Exhibition, and
never shall I forget it. The picture looked brown
and dingy, scarcely recognisable, all the bright
colours gone. I wretched in the extreme ; couldn't
sleep ; still all seemed pleased with it."

The after success of the picture may show the
young painter how little faith he may place upon his
first impressions of his work in a modern Exhibition
— a success, indeed, that resulted in the necessity of
placing a rail round the picture. One more quota-
tion from the inevitable diary, and I have done with
it and the " Charles " picture.

" Monday, June 4, '67. — To R.A., where I find a
rail round the ' Charles,' to my great surprise and
pleasure. This is the third rail round my work in
the Exhibition — first the ' Derby Day,' then the
* Royal Marriage,' and now ' The Last Sunday of
Charles 1 1.'— Eureka !"

With the great actors of my youth I had no
personal acquaintance ; but with those who have
appeared within the last thirty years I have been on
more or less intimate terms. Fechter was a frequent
guest at Pembridge Villas. He had a taste for
sculpture, and some proficiency in the practice of it.
John Parry would have been as great as a painter as

JOHN PARRY AND JEFFERSON,

375

he was in his own inimitable performances, if he
had devoted himself to the practice of painting
with the assiduity that he bestowed on his own art.
Some of those who may read these lines may re-
member Mr. Roseleafs Evening Party" — that
extraordinary scene in which the great mimic made
his audience see a whole roomful of people by
simulation, and little tricks of expression and move-
ment impossible to describe or to be repeated by
another. The whole of the scene was constructed
in my studio, and performed for the first time in the
drawing-room. With Compton, the best actor of
the minor Shakespearian characters, I was well ac-
quainted. The man I knew best, and with whom
I had most sympathy, was the American actor,
Jefferson, whose performance of ''Rip Van Winkle"
can never be forgotten. Out of his art, he was a
highly-cultivated man. He, too, would have been a
good painter if he had gone the right way of
becoming one. As it was (and perhaps as it is,
for the admirable artist is still living and acting in
America), his practice of painting a picture every
morning is not conducive to the long-sustained effort
necessary for the production of works of art. Jeffer-
son shrank from the study of details. His ideas
were poetic ; but his pictures were painted without
reference to nature, and consequently they were but
dreams — beautiful often, but unreal and unsubstantial
as dreams.

I think it was about the year 1866 that Sothern
with ''Lord Dundreary" burst upon the town

376

THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH.

and took it by storm. The popularity of the actor
was very great. I sought his acquaintance, and
painted his portrait, which is now, I beHeve, in New
York. Sothern was a very amusing companion; but
given to practical joking to an extent that approached
mania. He was also a pretended believer in spirit-
rapping, and as great a performer at table-rapping
as he was on the stage ; and I am ashamed to say
I assisted him in some of his deceptions, and my
friend Henry Tawell was as wicked as ourselves in
that particular, as what I am going to relate will
prove.

Sothern gave a great dinner, at which two young
lords, whose names I suppress, were guests, with
many others, all more or less believers. The drawing-
room at Sothern's w^as a long room — it appeared to
be two rooms flung into one — at one end of which,
after dinner, Tawell was thrown by the actor into a
mesmeric trance, in which he gave accurate descrip-
tions of the interior of some of the guests' houses,
to their utter amazement. I was far from the two
criminals — at the other end of the room, and close
to the two lords, who were looking and listening
with faces that spoke faith and wonder.

'*This must be some trick," said I. "The man
cannot possibly describe what he has never seen."

It is very wonderful," said Lord H .

Anyway, let us test him. If he can describe my
studio, and tell me the name of the man who sat for
me yesterday (one of our models), I will believe in
him."

SOTHERN AS A MESMERIST.

377

"Ah, if he can do that now, it will be extra-
ordinary indeed," said Lord H .

On second thoughts," I said, I shouldn't think
much of his description of the room, because all
artists' studios are much alike ; but if he names the
model, I will believe."

''Well, try him," said my lord.

'' No," said I, '' you put it to him."

At the moment, Tawell was lying back in an ex-
hausted condition, Sothern standing by him.

Said Lord H : " Can the gentleman describe

Mr. Frith's studio, and name the man who sat for
him yesterday ?"

Sothern made several passes, and they produced
a slow but accurate description of the painting-
room.

''Is that right said my lord.

" Yes," said I ; " but he can't name the model. It
is impossible. The name is " (in a whisper to Lord
H ) '' Harrel."

" Frith says the room is right ; but how about the
model — can he tell us the name ?"

Tawell was very exhausted. Sothern tried passes
sometimes slowly, sometimes rapidly; but the medium
gave no sound. At last the operator said :

" I fear my friend is too exhausted."

''There," said I, " I told you the whole thing is
humbug."

" Wait," we heard Sothern say, as he leant his ear
close to Taw^ell. '' Can you name the man who sat
to Frith yesterday ?"

378

THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH.

Tawell muttered something we could not hear.
Sothern, with his ear still closer to Tawell, said :
What ? Can't you speak a little louder ?"

Some more passes, and the mesmerized man
seemed to be revived into sudden strength again,
and in a clear voice said, " Harrel."

I think I acted my astonishment very well ; and
I am quite sure the young lords turned as white as
ghosts : the idea that the whole thing was pre-
arranged before dinner never entered their minds.
I believe both those gentlemen are still living, and if
by chance they should read these lines, they will
know how it was that Tawell knew "who sat for
Frith yesterday."

A Mrs. Marshall was a celebrated medium. She
was generally accompanied by a young woman she
called her niece when she gave — or rather sold — her
services at different houses. At one of her per-
formances 1 was present, and some strange tricks
were played. This time I was not a confederate,
but a pretended believer, and one of a large party
sitting round a table at a friend's house. There were
some ladies who wore large crinolines; and when the
younger Marshall put a candle under the table to
enable the spirit to see to put some coins into a
tumbler which was placed there for the purpose, after
hearing one or two pieces of money dropped into
the glass, I, without really wishing to discover any-
thing of the trick, looked beneath the table to see
if the candle was at a safe distance from the crino-
lines, when I saw the younger cheat moving the coins

A SERIOUS PRACTICAL JOKE.

379

with her feet towards the tumbler. She had put off
her sHppers, and her naked toes were apparent as
she used them Hke fingers, and with extraordinary-
cleverness, for amongst the coins was a fourpenny-
piece — a difficult thing to move about with one's toes.

Mrs. Marshall gave seances at her own house
to all and sundry who were willing to pay five
shillings for the amusement ; and Sothern, hearing
of the elderly medium, went with a friend — Toole,
I think it was — paid his five shillings, and gravely
took his place at the table. He became greatly awe-
stricken at the various manifestations. His excite-
ment and terror became very serious, and at last
culminated in a convulsive fit. He foamed at the
mouth (by the help of a piece of soap), rolled on the
ground, and bit the old woman in the leg.

A more serious and less defensible practical joke was
played by Sothern in the following manner. He was
acting in a piece — the name of which he mentioned
when he told me the story, but I forget it — when he
noticed a lady and gentleman sitting alone in the
stage-box. The lady was handsome. The gentleman,
somewhat her senior, seldom spoke to his companion ;
indeed, they appeared an ill-assorted couple. Sothern s
familiar demon was in full power, and when in the
course of the play he had to quit the stage for a
time, he wrote a note and sent it to the lady, con-
taining, as well as I can recollect, these words :

Beloved one ! Now and ever beloved ! Can it
be true that you are married Is the man with you
your husband ? Little dreamed I when I came to

38o

THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH,

the theatre that I should see one so inexpressibly-
dear to me in the possession of another. Can he
know — can you have forgotten all that has passed
between us ? I dare not sign this w^ith my name.
Yoic know it, and I implore you to let me see you
once more, and hear from your own lips that you are
lost to me for ever. Write to the club as usual."

Sothern told me he returned to the stage and con-
tinued his part, with an eye on the lady just as she
received his note. She read it, or the greater part
of it, and hastily thrust it into her pocket. Her
saturnine companion insisted on seeing it. The
lady hesitated, then flatly refused. The gentleman
persisted, and the note was produced.

I assure you," said Sothern, the man's ex-
pression would have been a study for you. Talk of
looking daggers, he looked broadswords. I am sorry
to say I couldn't hear what he said, but I saw what
he did ; he jumped up and rushed out of the box,
taking the lady with him, and I saw no more of 'em."

The above is a pretty clear proof that when the
love of practical joking takes possession of a man,
he may indulge it in a manner that is unjustifiable.
Another instance admits of defence. The actor
was very fond of marmalade, and had ordered rather
a large quantity at a shop. When the marmalade
was delivered, it was found to be faulty in many
respects, and Sothern w^ent to the shop and de-
manded back the money he had paid for it. The
shopkeeper refused, upon which Sothern put an
advertisement in two newspapers, announcing that

THE SPIRIT OF SHERIDAN.

381

orange-peel in any quantity that may be found at
music-halls, theatres, or at other places of private or
public resort where oranges are a favourite fruit, will
be purchased at the best price by So-and-So, at their
well-known establishment at Blank Place.

It will surprise no one that practical joking, how-
ever agreeable to the performer, is so little satisfac-
tory to the victims of it that an angry feeling is set
up, costing the joker many a friend. A notable
example of this occurred at Sothern's table on an
occasion when, as he said, He had got them all
into a state of mind to believe anything." The
spirits were present and very demonstrative, table-
movements and spectral effects were plentiful, when
the company were surprised by an announcement
that the spirit of Sheridan was present, and he
would like a glass of wine ! This was too much for
Sothern, who exclaimed :

Some one is playing a trick ; we all know Sheri-
dan's habits, but it is absurd to suppose that he
retains his propensities in a disembodied condition.
I must really ask that no one will attempt to trifle in
this way."

The spirits were again appealed to, and the ghost
of Sheridan rapped loudly and angrily, again de-
manding a glass of wine.

" Well," said Sothern, " this is very strange,"
filling a glass full of champagne. " Now, to see that
no trick is played, do you," speaking to Tawell, who
sat next to him, place yourself beneath the table,
and tell the company what takes place."

382 THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH.

Tawell slipped under the table, Sothern held the
wine below, and Tawell drank it.

The effect on the company when the empty glass
appeared, and Tawell 's frightened face with it, was
electric. A chorus of grateful raps from Sheridan
closed that scene, leaving the audience in what
Sothern called " exactly the right condition for
further operations."

To prove how a friend may be hurt and lost I
may add that amongst the guests was an old friend
of Sothern's — heretofore a sceptic, but on this occa-
sion an enthusiastic believer — who had recently lost
his mother. The spirit of the departed w^as present,
and the raps announced that if her son would put
his hand beneath the table the hand of the dead
would touch it. Near the chair of the actor was
some iced water ; his naked toes were plunged into
it and applied to the believer's hand for a moment,
but long enough to produce a startling effect. Then
the victim turned pale, the tears started to his eyes,
and he fell back sobbing in his chair. The trick
was discovered some time afterwards, and the spiri-
tualist lost his friend — and no wonder!

Sothern told me a curious circumstance in connec-
tion with the play of The American Cousin,"
originally produced in New York, the principal part
being filled by Jefferson, whose admirable acting
made it, or was intended to have made it, the chief
part of the play. Sothern — then acting in the name
of Stewart — was cast for the insignificant part of
Lord Dundreary, much to his disgust. He had

HOW LORD DUNDREARY WAS CREATED.

383

Other reasons for dislike to the management, and he
now determined to revenge himself by making the
foolish lord supremely ridiculous. Amongst the
properties he discovered a preposterous dressing-
gown. He practised a way of walking, or rather
skipping about, unlike the locomotion of any creature
out of Bedlam. He invented a drawl equally un-
natural, and armed with these weapons he hoped to
damn the piece. To his utter astonishment the
means he had adopted to ruin the play insured its
success, and from that moment Lord Dundreary
became its most attractive character. I saw the
play several times in London, and on each occasion
the actor varied the part by the introduction of
allusions, in a Dundreary spirit, to events of the
moment, or in what is called gagging," to any
extent. If he found his gag tell upon the audience
he repeated it ; if not, he changed it for another.
On one occasion he told me that, discovering the
young lady in the play immersed in a book, and
apparently surprised by its contents, he inquired
in Dundreary tones what she was reading. The
young lady replied that the book was one of Chinese
travels, and the writer asserted that criminals con-
demned to death in China could, by a money-
payment, procure substitutes who underwent the
punishment for them.

Can this be true asked the young lady.

Perfectly," said Dundreary. My brother vSam
is intimately acquainted with some of the Chinese
who get their living by it."

384 THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH.

This, Sothern told me, he thought would have
told " with the audience — and I confess I should
have thought so too ; but except an old gentleman
in the stalls, who let off a laugh like a loud bark,
there was not a smile amongst them," and the
Chinese joke was never repeated.

I hesitate in any allusion to living people, actors
or others. I think I may boast that I have an ac-
quaintance, more or less intimate, with most of the
best actors of the present day, and I have the satis-
faction of feeling that I was one of the first to fore-
tell the great fame that has been so deservedly won
by my friend Irving ; and, curiously enough, I may
say the same as regards Miss Ellen Terry, in whose
performance — almost e7i ainatetu' — many years ago,
I discovered, or thought I did, germs of the genius
since so apparent to all the world. But I feel it is
time to return to a less congenial subject, namely,
myself and my own doings, and I find that I am
again in trouble" in respect of sztbject.

The remainder of the year 1867 was taken up by
the execution of small matters, with the exception
of one picture from She Stoops to Conquer ;" the
scene chosen being that in which Mrs. Hard-
castle desires her cub of a son to stand back to
back with Miss Neville to see which is the taller,
a position of which Tony takes advantage to bestow
a blow upon the lady's head with his own thick
skull, to her discomfiture, and his mother's dis-
gust. The picture contains four figures, the third
being Mr. Hastings, the lover of Miss Neville. The

DR. JOHNSON AND HIS FRIENDS.

385

subject is a good one of its class, but far wide of
what I desired to illustrate. The picture was pretty
successful, and is now in the collection of Mr.
Matthews. This, with a portrait and a small subject
from Sterne, occupied me till, on reading, or rather re-
reading, Boswell's "Johnson," I found a scene that
might be sufficiently interesting to repay its repro-
duction, containing, as it does, so many historical
and eminent characters. The locality is Boswell's
lodgings in Bond Street, and the persons present
are Boswell, Johnson, Garrick, Murphy, Sir Joshua
Reynolds, Goldsmith, and others. The guests are
assembled before dinner, waiting for one who is, d
la Landseer, belated. Boswell asks, Ought six
people to be kept waiting for one ?" " Why, yes,"
replies Johnson, " if the one will suffer more by your
sitting down than the six will do by waiting."

In the interval of waiting, Garrick is described as
holding the lapels of Johnson's coat, the sage look-
ing down upon him with tender interest. As there
was nearly the difference of a foot in the height of
the two men, Johnson must have regarded the actor
from a physical as well as a moral elevation suffi-
ciently striking, and though I took especial pains to
ascertain the precise height of the two figures, and
placed them on the canvas in their true relation to
each other, I was told by a critic who had most pro-
bably never given two thoughts to the matter, that

Johnson was too tall." Boswell sat with watch in
hand, whilst Goldsmith posed before the mirror in
all the splendour of the celebrated plum-coloured

VOL. I. 25

386

THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH.

coat. Now came the dreadful model grievance — the
real people were gone, and the substitutes difficult,
in some cases impossible, to obtain. Excellent
authorities in the way of busts and portraits were
plentiful, but to find anyone with the least resem-
blance to Garrick or Johnson was a puzzle indeed.
Nollekens' portrait-bust of Johnson was of great
service ; it is full of character, and evidently a striking
likeness, but much damaged by a fiowing head of
hair — an ornament impossible to Johnson or any-
body else who habitually wore a wig. Johnson re-
monstrated with the sculptor, and insisted that not
only should the wig have been represented, but the
coat and neckcloth also, instead of the flowing locks
and a sort of towel or other drapery encircling the
neck, according to the classic taste of the day. I
think the Doctor was right, but Nollekens did not,
and positively refused to make the change, for
several reasons ; one being that " he had paid a man
eighteenpence to sit for the hair, and he was not
going to that expense for nothing." Nollekens was
a miser, and in other respects an oddity. Mulready,
who remembered calling on him to express his ac-
knowledgment for a vote that the sculptor may, or
may not, have given him, on his election as an
Associate, described the sculptor and his workshop
to me — the former as a little thin-lipped, mean-looking
creature ; the latter as filled with casts of admirable
quality. Amongst them Nollekens showed the young
painter a bust-, or busto," as he called it, of Yorick,
otherwise Sterne.

NOLLE KENS AND THE PRINCE OF WALES, 387

Yes, that's Yorick's busto that I done (sic) in
Rome. And that — oh, that's just a bit of accidental
natur," alluding to a lovely female figure which had
attracted Mulready's admiration.

Pictures were pichtrs and nature was natiir in
the Nollekens times. I don't suppose Reynolds
ever sdiiA piciure in his life.

Landseer had a story of Nollekens worth repeating.
George IV., when Prince of Wales, sat to Nollekens
for his bust, which w^as being finished, in marble.
The sculptor was working close to his model, when a
little marble-dust found its way to the collar of the
Prince's coat. Nollekens blew it off, and in the
same breath said to the Prince :
How's your father ?"

The King was just recovering from a long illness.
Thank you, Mr. Nollekens, he is much better."

''Ah! that's all right!" said Nollekens. "It
would be a sad thing if he was to die, for we shall
never have another King like him."

'' Thank you," said the Prince.

" Ah, sir ! you may depend upon that."

But I am drifting away from my picture and the
difficulties of it. After many trials from a variety of
models, I succeeded in getting a tolerable resem-
blance to the various personages, as we know them
from prints and pictures, and it was not till after the
picture was in the Exhibition, unfortunately, that I
found I mio^ht have secured an excellent model for
Garrick. And thus the matter fell out: My friend Mr.
Cundall, the manager of the Stafford Place branch

25—2

388

THE GREAT ACTORS OF MY YOUTH.

of the London and Westminster Bank, received a
visit from a stranger on a matter of business con-
nected with the bank. The moment the gentleman
entered the manager's private room, his extraor-
dinary resemblance to Garrick so struck Cundall
that my picture instantly came into his mind, to-
gether with a regret that it was too late for me to
avail myself of so valuable a model. After some
talk, the business, whatever it may have been, was
concluded, and it was necessary for the stranger to
give his name, and the manager's surprise may be
imagined when he found it was — Garrick. His
astonishment was so evident that Mr. Garrick asked
the cause of it. This was explained, when the
stranger said :

''Well, the likeness is easily accounted for, for my
grandfather was Garrick's brother."

The female element, considered justly an im-
portant factor in all pictures, was conspicuous by its
absence from the company assembled at BoswelFs
lodgings in Bond Street, or only on evidence in the
form of a pretty servant-girl, who was represented
as announcing the late arrival. I think I may boast
that having painted so many pretty women, I had
acquired a reputation for the feat, and it was a great
objection to the Garrick " picture, both on my own
part and that of my friends, that the conditions of
the subject debarred me from the advantage that
the introduction of the most charming portion of
humanity would have afforded me. Many were the
predictions that the picture would never sell," a

A HANDSOME PRICE.

389

feeling strongly shared by Mr. Agnew, who bought
it from me for, I think, twelve hundred pounds.

" It is a capital picture !" said that eminent autho-
rity ; but we shall have to keep it, Frith."

That " you should never prophesy unless you
know," was very fully proved in this case, for the pic-
ture changed hands at the private view, and became
the property of Mr. Mendell, of Manchester, at
whose death, some years afterwards, the picture was
sold at Christie's for four thousand five hundred and
sixty-seven pounds ten shillings, being the largest
price that had been paid for the work of a living
artist at that time.

END OF VOL. I.

BILLING & SONS, PRINTERS, GUILOFORO.

/. D. Co.

NOTES.

Vol. I., page 1 88.

A propos of Sir Joshua Reynolds's painting on Sundays, the
following extract may be quoted from Hannah More's " Diary " :

"Hampton, December, 1784.

" Poor dear Johnson ! he is past all hope. The dropsy has brought him
to the point of death ; his legs are scarified, but nothing will do. I have,
however, the comfort to hear that his dread of dying is in a great measure
subdued ; and now he says 'the bitterness of death is past.' He sent the
other day for Sir Joshua ; and, after much serious conversation, told him he
had three favours to beg of him, and he hoped he would not refuse a dying
friend, be they what they would. Sir Joshua promised. The first was that he
would never paint on a Sunday ; the second that he would forgive him thirty
pounds that he had lent him, as he wanted to leave them to a distressed
family ; the third was that he would read the Bible whenever he had an
opportunity, and that he would never omit it on a Sunday. There was no
difficulty but upon the first point ; but at length Sir Joshua promised to
gratify him in all."

" Memoirs of the Life and Correspondence of Mrs. Hannah More,"
2nd edition, vol. i., p. 376.

. Vol. I., page 255.^

By a communication received from my friend, the painter of
the picture of " The Hunchback," I find that I am in error in
supposing that his picture was "turned out." It was hung, and,
what is better, it was sold, and afterwards engraved. I desire to
apologise for the treachery of my memory. I cannot remember
the position the picture afterwards filled in the Gallery, but I am
perfectly certain my fellow-hangers objected to my placing it
anywhere.

{At end of Vol. I.

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